the kind of world where we belong
by Redonkgirl99
Summary: By the time the calendar read November of 1983, Henry was well aware that his name had changed. On paper it was the same as the day he'd been born: Henry Joseph Sinclair. But, ask anyone around Hawkins about the handsome young man and they'd all call him by the same name: Henry "The Kid Who Fell Off the Quarry (and Lived!)" Sinclair. Steve Harrington/Original Male Character
1. should have known it wouldn't last

"Thanks for the ride home."

"Thanks for dinner."

For a moment it was quiet between the two teens. Neither really knew what to do in this situation; Henry had never had a girl over to his house before, and Barb had never gone over to a boy's house before. As the seconds ticked by in silence, the cool November air gently blew past them and softly stung their cheeks. Henry had the benefit of leaning in the doorway—halfway in and halfway out (something his father would've normally yelled at him to stop doing, unless _he _would like to pay to heat the whole damn neighborhood). But, Barb was fully at the mercy of the elements as she stood on the porch—growing colder as neither said anything.

"Do you—." Barb cleared her throat as her voice buckled ever so slightly, "Do you need a ride tomorrow?"

"Uh…" Henry mumbled, buying himself time as he considered, "I should be able to get that piece of junk working before then. Thanks for the offer though."

"Oh, okay," Barb said, sounding a tad surprised and maybe covering up a tiny bit of disappointment, "Um, then, see you at school?"

"See you at school," Henry replied, flashing one of his winning smiles.

Barb returned it with her own small, inauthentic one, but when she turned to leave, she suddenly stopped and spun back around to face him.

"Henry?" She said, Henry's smile disappearing as he heard how her voice took on a funny quality, "Thanks."

"For?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

"Distracting me," Barb replied, Henry's confusion quickly replaced with understanding, "Giving me something to do other than mope around my room all night. Thanks."

"Of course, Barb," Henry replied, his lighthearted demeanor nowhere to be seen as he spoke genuinely, "Anytime."

Barb's face softened into her true smile, and Henry responded in kind. It was gentle, familiar, and appeared romantic to anyone who caught it. The softness lasted for a moment more, but it didn't come to an end naturally. Instead, it was shattered by the familiar sound coming from behind Henry.

_Wouldn't it be nice if we were older  
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long?_

Again, understanding washed over Henry's expression as the terrible realization of what was happening hit him.

The sound of the Beach Boys flowed from deep inside of the house and out to where the two teens stood; Henry shutting his eyes and leaning his forehead against the frame.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "Never had a girl over for dinner."

Barb laughed at that, and Henry cracked an eye open to look at her; his lips unwillingly pulling up at the corners. For a moment it was quiet as Barb continued to giggle, before Henry straightened up and levelled her with a gentle look.

"See you tomorrow, Barbara Holland," He said, no longer trying to hide his smile. Barb's grin softened to match Henry's expression, and she nodded slightly; looking as if she wanted to say something other than a farewell. But, she didn't, and neither one was too worried about what was unspoken. They'd get around to it eventually. They had time.

"See you tomorrow, Henry Sinclair."

.

By the time the calendar read November of 1983, Henry was well aware that his name had changed.

Sure, on paper it was the same name his parents had given him the day he'd been born: Henry Joseph Sinclair. Nothing special, just a name made up of his parent's surname and leftovers from dead relatives (his burden to bear as the eldest; Lucas and Erica had gotten shiny new ones). But, that was just legally. Ask anyone around Hawkins—even the ones who didn't know him personally—about the handsome young man driving a 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass and they'd all call him by the same name:

Henry "The Kid Who Fell Off the Quarry (and Lived!)" Sinclair.

It was better than its predecessor (although Henry "The Black Kid" Sinclair popped up sometimes to this day), but it still wasn't a great feeling to have everyone identify you by the worst time of your life.

Yes, at age 12 Henry had gone over the Quarry's edge and into the water, and obviously, he'd survived. It was complete and utter luck that kept him from dying when he fell 200 feet that day—godly intervention the religious folks around town would say. But, he hadn't gotten away unscathed, and as a result he'd been bedridden for a very long time. So long, that he hadn't been able to go back to school for the rest of the semester.

While his classmates graduated and moved right onto 8th grade, Henry had returned to school in the fall for a second take of the 7th. It wasn't the worst part of the whole ordeal, of course not, but at the time it had stung a little. The weak connections built between middle schoolers were easily broken by months of absence, and although he had been the focus of the entire town, Henry was alone.

And he never tried to change that.

Yeah, if you asked anyone in town about the handsome young man driving the 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass, they could tell you all about how he fell in the Quarry at age 12—how he survived something that no one in the history of Hawkins ever had—but they couldn't tell you much else.

If you asked the students of Hawkins High about their classmate, they could tell you about his easy rapport with everyone around him. If you asked various teachers, they could tell you about his respectful nature and aptitude for problem solving. If you asked Lisa Wells, she could tell you about his bright smile, broad shoulders, and his sweet apologies when he turned down her invitation to the Sadie Hawkins dance.

If you asked Charles Sinclair, he could tell you about his son's work ethic, and his knack for cars that kept his piece of garbage running for far longer than it probably should have. If you asked Erica Sinclair, she could tell you about how her big brother would play with her more often than not, even when she personally thought he should be out with friends. If you asked Judith Sinclair, she could tell you about how her son was always willing to do chores without (much) complaint, and how he seemed to skip the teenage angst and go right to being a good and kind young man.

She was the only one who really noticed, and if you pressed she'd admit it:

She didn't know much about her son. She didn't know much about his thoughts, or hopes, or dreams. The last time he'd come to her about his feelings had been before the Quarry. Before Henry had built a wall between himself and those around him. Most people couldn't see it, but it was there, transparent. Something that blocked everyone from ever really getting close to him. Judith couldn't put her finger on what it was or what had caused it (the trauma of a near death experience, the pain being isolated, or something entirely different?), but at the end of the day, it didn't matter. It was there all the same. Nothing she, or anyone else, did seem to be able to change that. And as Henry grew older, she realized that maybe she'd just have to accept it.

She didn't know much about Henry.

And she was starting to worry that no one did.

.

If you asked Lucas Sinclair, he could explain to you everything about his brother.

But, he wouldn't.

.

Henry smiled to himself as the familiar sound of wheels on pavement and excited chatter reached his ears. He didn't raise his head from where it was buried under the hood of his car though, not even when one of the bikes rolled into the garage.

"Hey," Lucas said, throwing his bike down in Henry's peripheral.

"Hey," Henry replied, Lucas moving to stand beside the car; Henry wordlessly handing the flashlight over so his younger brother could shine it on the problem area.

"What's wrong with it now?" Lucas asked, Henry's lips turning upward slightly at his tone.

"Spark plugs," he said, pausing for a moment, "I hope. Go try to start it, will you?"

The brothers passed the flashlight yet again and Lucas ran over to the driver's seat to turn the keys that were already in the ignition. For a breathless moment, the sounds that car made were not promising, but all of a sudden it roared to life and both Sinclair boys cheered. Henry shut the hood while Lucas turned it off; both of them plopping down on the front of the car with satisfied smiles.

"How was your, uh, crusade?" Henry hazard a guess, Lucas rolling his eyes dramatically.

"Campaign. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Henry laughed at that, leaning over to the mini-fridge and pulling out two Cokes; replying as he tossed one to his brother.

"I was pretty close that time."

"It was good," Lucas said, electing to ignore him, "Mike's the best at being the Dungeon Master. The Demogorgan did _technically _get Will, but Mike didn't see the roll so..."

"It's not cheating if nobody notices," Henry replied, easily getting a laugh out of Lucas. For a moment, it was quiet between the two Sinclair brothers. Both of them just enjoyed the cool fall night and the sharp taste of a sugary drink. But, reality returned sooner rather than later and Henry cleared his throat; Lucas recognizing one of his brother's tells immediately.

"So," Henry started slowly, Lucas at full attention now, "I had a friend over for dinner earlier, and Mom and Dad and Erica are all kind of being weird about it. It's not a big deal, just… thought I'd prepare you before you went inside."

"Why're they being weird?" Lucas asked with a furrowed brow, his confused look incredibly similar to the one his older brother had worn earlier. Henry studied the top of his can before taking a sip, and the moment that passed was just a little bit too long.

"It was a girl."

Henry kept his eyes on his drink, once again seeing his brother movements in his peripheral vision. Lucas was still for a few seconds with his eyes trained on Henry, and then he turned to look straight ahead; waiting a moment—maybe gathering his thoughts—before he spoke.

"I didn't know you had any friends that're girls."

"It's new," Henry replied promptly, neither brother looking at each other, "Barb. She's nice."

Henry felt Lucas turn to look at him, and he resisted for a moment before giving in and meeting his eyes.

_"How _nice?" Lucas asked, Henry eyeing the door that stood between the garage and the house.

"Very nice. She, uh." Henry shot another glance at the door before returning to looking Lucas dead on, this time with a million unspoken words in his eyes, "She really gets me."

Surprise took over Lucas's features at that and it was quiet as he processed. But, he finally smiled slightly and any tension in Henry started to dissipate.

"That's… good," Lucas said, Henry nodding before looking forward again, "What do you mean 'weird?'"

"They played _Wouldn't It Be Nice _when she was leaving."

Only silence followed that. Both looked out, past everything that was safely inside the brightly lit garage, and towards the darkness just outside the door. It was a quiet night in this part of town, with the only sound being the rustling of the trees as gentle winds blew through them. Hawkins was having a mild November so far, nothing any of them would ever complain about, but there was something odd about being able to go without getting bundled up.

Henry tapped absentmindedly on the top of the can with his nail as he thought back to sitting at the dinner table. It hadn't been as bad as he'd imagined it. Of course, back when he'd entertained the possibility of bringing home a girl to meet his parents, it hadn't been Barb. He liked Barb and his parents had too. Things were easier with Barb than they would be with any other girl.

But, even so, Henry felt that familiar pit form in his stomach. It was stupid; Barb was just his friend who came over for dinner. It wasn't like it was anything other than that. It wasn't like it was anything his parents were imagining it to be. This wasn't some build up, it was just him having his friend over. It was just him and Barb being friends, not the precursor to—.

Henry's fingers twitched towards his pocket, even though they were empty, and he mentally cursed at himself. This was not something to get so worked up about that he needed one. God, this was stupid. He shouldn't be feeling like this, shouldn't be reaching for a box, he shouldn't have all of those fears popping up again. Stupid. Stupid. St—.

Henry stiffened as he was pulled out of his thoughts by the muffled sound coming from beside him. He looked over at Lucas, and one look at his baby brother's face was all it took for his mind to be completely taken off of his anxieties. With an unwilling smile pulling on his lips, he spoke.

"Shut up."

Lucas just laughed harder.

.

The morning after Barb had eaten dinner with his family, Henry cruised down the road in his newly repaired car. It was bright, seventy-five degrees, and there was a small part of his brain telling him to skip school. But, he was the type that ignored those whispers, and instead he dutifully headed towards Hawkins High.

With the windows down, and the radio playing _Little Red Corvette, _it made for a picturesque morning. Henry gently drummed his fingers against the wheels as his lips formed the words that Prince was crooning on the radio. He was lighter this morning than he had been the night before. It wasn't that it was all resolved, of course, it was just a lot harder to be burdened by anxiety when the air was crisp and the sun was gently warming your skin.

Henry's idyllic morning was soon interrupted, however, by a sudden cacophony of sound. He straightened up in his seat and turned down his music as he tried to get a handle on what he was hearing. The sound that was coming from behind him.

_"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long?"_

Once his brain finally processed what was happening, Henry threw a middle finger out of the car and unsuccessfully tried to squash the smile taking over his features. He could hear how loud laughter mixed in with the off-tune screeching of the Beach Boys, and he allowed that grin to fully take over his features when the familiar kids, hauling on their bikes, went on either side of his car.

"You're all dead to me!" He called out his window, grinning as Dustin and Mike both blew up into hysterical giggles—not even trying to keep up their singing anymore—and Lucas shot him a finger gun as he continued to serenade his brother.

As they neared a stop sign, Henry slowed and he threw a wave at the kids who only seemed to speed up. He chuckled as he watched them cycle into the distance and he leaned back against his seat. Once he started forward again, he still drove at a more ambling pace. He was in no rush to get to school, and he figured he might as well enjoy the last bits of sunshine this year had to offer. Those boys hadn't ruined his idyllic morning. He probably wouldn't admit it, but being heckled by middle schoolers had made it all the more perfect. Henry's smile stayed on his face for the rest of the drive to school.

Looking back on it, back on the 7th of November, 1983, Henry would wonder why he hadn't noticed that only three bikes had flanked his car that sunny morning.


	2. biggest loser alive

"They made out in the bathroom."

Henry jumped slightly, and jerked his head towards the unexpected voice. He'd nearly made it the entire school day without anybody trying to talk to him about anything more than whether or not they'd had homework or something equally as innocuous. He was almost disappointed. But, he relaxed as he realized who had started keeping pace with him, and even smiled slightly as he turned his eyes forward again.

"Hey, Barb."

Barb smiled a little at that, despite the _gravity_ of what she'd just said. Henry liked to think that was his own personal impact.

"Hi, Henry," Barb said, "He left a note in her locker and they made out in the bathroom."

"Uh…" Henry came to a stop in front of his own locker as he thought it over, before he replied honestly, "Gross."

"Right?!" Barb exclaimed, leaning back against the locker next to Henry's, "That's _so unsanitary. _Also, anyone could walk in on them!"

"I mean, I would hope they locked the door," Henry replied, never slowing his movements as he shoved his books into his backpack, "Did Mundy give us homework? I kind of spaced out at the end there."

"No, he didn't. He probably heard that we were having a test with Kaminsky and decided to give us a break," Barb said, slightly rushed as she pushed past the unimportant topic, "But, who _does _that? Skips class to go swap spit with some guy in a _public bathroom. _You know what, I'll tell you who, someone like Carol or Tommy H, _not _Nancy Wh—."

Henry shut his locker and turned to look Barb dead in the eyes; cutting her off without a single word. There was a moment of silence, and Barb deflated.

"Yeah," she said, her voice low and her eyes on her feet, "I know. You're right."

Henry sighed as he took in Barb's downtrodden body language, and he felt a tug of guilt at his stomach even though he knew it wasn't his fault. Finally, he put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him and make eye contact.

"You want to come over sometime this weekend?" He offered after a moment, an unwilling smile starting to pull on Barb's lips, "I think I could make some space in my very busy schedule of doing nothing. Plus, I'm not sure if you could tell, but my parents were pretty happy last night that I finally had a girl over to my house."

"You know… I think I noticed that, yeah," Barb replied, truly smiling now.

"Really, you could?" Henry asked sarcastically, turning so he had a hand on Barb's back and could steer them towards the exit, "What gave it away? Was it the excited looks my mom and dad kept exchanging about every 30 seconds? Or my sister's utter _disbelief _when you sat down at the table? Or-or maybe was it the Beach Boys? Was it the Beach Boys, Barb?"

The giggles that she'd had at the beginning turned into open laughter as Henry's rant drew to a close. He knew he was hamming it up more than he usually would, and that they were attracting more attention than they normally preferred (across the hallway, Ally's eyes flicked between the two of them and her brows raised), but he didn't care. Barb wasn't sad anymore.

"Hey, Barb! Oh."

Henry and Barb turned to see Nancy Wheeler herself come to a sudden halt. Clearly she had seen Barb from down the hall, but hadn't processed exactly what she was doing until she'd tried to get her friend's attention. Nancy smiled sheepishly as she crossed the distance between them, before coming to a stop in front of them; fiddling with her sleeves awkwardly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, "I just wanted to talk to Barb about something, but if you two are busy, I can just—."

"It's fine," Barb said with a shrug, one beat of awkward silence before Henry couldn't handle it and he spoke.

"We were just joking around."

"Right," Nancy said, a tad softer than before with a funny look in her eye, "I know you, don't I?"

"This is Henry," Barb quickly replied, almost as if that was a defense to whatever Nancy was thinking, "Henry Sinclair."

"Oh, right," Nancy said, Henry seeing the _exact _moment it clicked in her brain who he was and bracing himself for _that_ particular small talk, "Your brother, Lucas, he's friends with my brother."

"Yeah," Henry said, unable to keep the lilt of surprise out of his voice, "He hangs out in your basement a lot."

"It's not just that, though. Didn't you come over to my house?" Nancy said, realization dawning on Henry's features.

"Yeah, once, when we were like ten. It was your brother's birthday party; my mom dragged me along because she had to take Lucas."

"We played Sorry inside because we didn't want to run around with the 'little kids,'" Nancy said, laughing as the memories came flooding back to her.

"Wait…" Henry putting his head on his forehead and shutting his eyes as he tried to sort through fuzzy (given their close proximity to the more traumatic ones) childhood memories, "Tell me if I'm misremembering, but wasn't Jonathan Byers there too? He played with us."

"He was!" Nancy replied, just as surprised, "I think he won!"

"That's so weird," Henry said, maybe a little more thoughtfully than someone normally would in these circumstances, but he wasn't alone.

"I remember having a lot of fun," Nancy murmured, her words tilting almost as if it was a question. One that Henry heard loud and clear, but already knew the answer to.

"Oh, didn't you want to say something to Barb?" Henry asked, feeling a little bad that he'd left her out of the conversation for so long; he was supposed to be her line of defense against any bad feelings her best friend might cause, and here he was, chatting with Nancy like there was nothing wrong. Luckily, his words snapped Nancy out of her thoughts, and she smiled.

"Yeah."

"Alright, I'll leave you to it." Henry turned his attention back to Barb, where it _should _be, "Come by whenever you want."

"Right, see you later," Barb said, ever so slightly nervous as she shot a glance towards Nancy. Henry was already walking away when he waved, feeling a little bit guilty that he was leaving Barb to deal with Nancy's questions on her own, but also a little relieved.

As he pushed the doors to the school open and headed out to the parking lot, his mind was a million miles away. Yeah, he understood the question Nancy had been asking herself, it had occurred to him in the moment too: if they'd had so much fun that day, why hadn't they stayed friends? But, it hadn't taken more than a millisecond of thought for him to figure out the answer to that one.

Nancy Wheeler was a good girl _extraordinaire. _She was smart, modest, came from a good family, never went to parties, and every other thing that came from that role. The closest she'd done to toeing out of line was dating a particular player of both basketball and women. But, although he'd never tell Barb, Henry didn't doubt Nancy's ability to make him settle down in the suburbs with her for the rest of their lives.

Jonathan Byers, on the other hand, couldn't be more different. People called him a freak, and treated him like one too. Which was pretty awful, but there was no denying he was different from the rest. He had no friends, but unlike Henry, he just withdrew. And, while most people would chalk that up to his "freakish" nature, Henry had heard more than enough from his mother about the Byers' home situation to know that the pressure to keep their family from falling completely apart was heavily on Jonathan's shoulders.

Then there was Henry.

Henry was Henry, and that was enough to set him apart from the other two.

While for a brief moment their paths had intersected in the Wheeler's living room (_before _Nancy fell into line, _before _Jonathan became a complete social pariah, and _before… _before), there was no denying the people that they had each become. Very different people.

And, for the life of him, Henry couldn't comprehend a situation that would bring them together the way an older kids' alliance against younger ones had. At least, not one that would ever happen.

"Henry?!"

For the second time today, Henry jumped, only to turn and see a teenage girl trying to catch his attention.

"Oh, hey Lisa," he said, his awkwardness dissipating as she neared and he caught sight of her concerned expression, "What's up?"

"Um," Lisa Wells started, like she usually did when she had to say something to Henry. If anyone asked, she was 100% over him, but sometimes she still felt the flutters of attraction and the sting of rejection when she looked at him, "So, my brother, he goes to middle school. And, um, he saw your brother get called into the principal's office."

Henry tipped his head slightly as he thought about it. That was out of character for Lucas, he was a good kid. But, at the same time, Henry didn't doubt his brother and his friends' ability to get into some _shenanigans. _Probably nothing.

"And, um…" Lisa continued, pulling Henry's attention back to her, "He said that he saw the Chief in there too."

.

Henry's fingers twitched towards his pocket and he cursed under his breath; he'd thought it would be better if he left his backpack in his car, but now all he wanted was a loose one that he'd thrown in there for emergencies.

As another group of children hurried past him, Henry figured it was actually probably a good thing.

He settled on biting his nails.

For what seemed the millionth time in the eight minutes he'd been waiting, Henry threw a glance across the hallway at the frosted glass that read _Principal Russel Coleman _in dark lettering. He knew that on the other side of that door were his brother and the Chief of Police, he just didn't know _why. _And that was way scarier than he'd like to admit.

Finally, _finally, _after what felt like years of waiting, the door swung open and out filed the familiar preteen boys. Although it was a little selfish, Henry couldn't help but feel relieved when he realized that Mike and Dustin had _also _been in there.

Henry straightened up as they were ushered out of the room by Coleman and a cop, with the familiar large man rounding out the back of the group. Henry made eye contact with him for a split-second before he dropped his gaze to the ground; familiar discomfort coursing through his body. Henry could see in his peripheral how his mouth opened—undoubtedly to say something about his presence that would probably be a little too blunt for comfort—before someone beat him to the punch.

"Henry?"

Lucas was confused, all of the kids were, and rightfully so. Henry didn't make a habit of showing up in the hallways of Hawkins Middle. In his opinion, he'd had more than his fair share of time here, and he shouldn't have to spend any more in this dreary building. So, clearly these were outstanding circumstances.

"Hey, Bud," Henry said as he forced a smile, trying to keep his spirits up, at least for appearances.

"What are you doing here?' Lucas asked, crossing the distance between them.

"Heard that the Chief was talking to you, thought I'd come check," he said casually, before his voice lowered for only Lucas to hear and any carelessness disappeared, "Everything alright?"

Lucas nodded, and Henry felt some of his nerves dissipate, but when he opened his mouth to give a real answer, he was cut off by a familiar gruff voice that all but commanded his attention.

"Joyce Byers came into the station this morning," Chief Jim Hopper said, Henry meeting his eyes even though that was one of the last things he wanted to do, "She can't find her son."

.

The ride home from school that day was markedly different than the drive to.

For starters, there were four people in the car rather than just one, because when the Chief of Police asks you to ferry three preteens home so they wouldn't have a chance to start playing detective, you did it. Now, instead of that idyllic quiet only disturbed by the soft sound of the radio, the Oldsmobile was filled with endless chatter. But, more notable that the noise was the fact that Henry had not been blessed with the lightheartedness from earlier, and instead wordlessly frowned as he drove through Hawkins.

"Maybe he was kidnapped by some Russian spies and—." Dustin's theory was clearly far from over when he was cut off.

"Why would Russian spies want to kidnap Will?" Lucas demanded, leaning over Mike so Dustin could see the full majesty of his incredulous expression.

"I'm getting there, let me finish!" Dustin replied, muttering something profane under his breath before continuing, "Maybe Russian spies kidnapped Will, and are interrogating him for information on the United States _right now." _

"What could Will know that the Russians don't?" Mike asked, abandoning his mediator role to join the side of disbelief, "He's just a kid!"

"Or maybe brainwashing him into becoming an informant for the Russians!" Dustin countered, "No one would ever expect an American kid to be a spy!"

"Yeah, because a kid can't find out important stuff!" Lucas replied, "Do you think the Russians are trying to figure out who Stacey Campbell has a crush on?"

"Will's small! He could fit into some tight spaces!"

"What tight spaces?! The vents at school?! So the Russians can find where Phyllis stores the chocolate pudding?!"

"Henry, what do you think happened to Will?!" Mike all but yelled, clearly trying to get this conversation back on track. It sort of worked, the car fell silent as all three of the boys stopped talking; curious what an older and more experienced (in comparison) person would have to say. But, as the seconds ticked on, it became obvious that Henry wouldn't be answering any time soon.

"Henry?" Lucas asked, tapping on his older brother's shoulder. Henry turned his head towards the boys in the back, and they realized he hadn't been ignoring him, he just hadn't heard the question, "What do you think happened to Will?"

"Oh." The sound Henry made seemed involuntary, but the tone was enough for the boys to realize that what he thought was not nearly as exciting or fun as Russian spies, "Well, um, I hope he just got lost or ran off."

"Will wouldn't run away," Mike replied, serious now. Henry sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, I know."

The car was quiet again, but only for a moment before Lucas put his arms against the back of the front seats and rested his chin on top.

"Are you okay?" He asked, frowning not unlike how Henry had been moments earlier.

"Yeah," Henry said, glancing at his brother before plastering on a smile and giving a much more convincing answer, "Yeah, of course. Cops just make me nervous, you know that."

"Even the Chief?" Dustin interjected, just as terrible at reading the room as ever, "Wasn't he the one who—?"

_SMACK._

Dustin yelped at the slap Lucas landed on his head and—less obviously, but still worth noting—the elbow Mike shoved into his stomach.

_"What the Hell?!"_ Dustin exclaimed, glaring at his two best friends.

"Alright, Henderson residence," Henry said, cutting off the fight before it really got started. Dustin muttered something under his breath as stumbled out of the car; huffily fixing his clothes.

"You guys suck!" He yelled, slamming the door shut and stomping towards his house. The two boys in the back were unresponsive to their friend's antics, but Henry smiled slightly as he rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

"Dustin!" He said, getting the kid's attention, "Your bike!"

Dustin almost seemed to twitch before stomping back over to the car and opening the trunk to get his bike from the heap. After a moment of struggling, he got it free and he slammed the trunk before stomping up the driveway again.

"Dustin!"

The grumpy kid turned towards him expectantly, but this time Henry said nothing, and just blew him a kiss. The two boys in the backseat erupted into laughter as Dustin rolled his eyes and disappeared into his garage. When Henry pulled out of the driveway and headed towards their next stop, Mike and Lucas were still giggling.

By the time Mike had been dropped off, the conversation had steered away from Henry and back on the proper track: Will's disappearance. The two boys had thrown around more than a few ridiculous theories about what could've happened to Will, and neither of them seemed to put much weight into them, even when it was coming out of their own mouths. Even so, after Mike climbed out of the car and retrieved his bike, he'd called back at Lucas.

"We'll talk more about this later!"

Lucas said something back confirming it as Mike started to walk up to his house; Henry driving away as soon as it was clear he would get inside okay.

The space Lucas's friends had occupied with their bodies and voices was empty now, and the car fell silent for a moment. Henry looked out the window with his mind more on the past half hour and less on the road. He hadn't been lying, cops did make him nervous, but a certain cop had a way of making him shut down faster than any other. Hell, even just thinking about it—thinking about what Dustin had almost blurted out—had his jaw clenching and his hands tightening around the steering wheel. His eyes flashed towards his backpack on the passenger seat as the urge hit him.

"What _do _you think happened to Will?"

If Lucas's words hadn't been enough to wake Henry out of his reverie, him clambering into the front seat certainly did.

"We're two minutes from the house," Henry protested, aiming a swat at his brother as Lucas kicked his backpack onto the floor and plopped into the front seat.

"Seriously, man," Lucas said, leveling Henry with that look that meant he wouldn't be able to dance his way around this anymore. Henry hated that he could do that, but it was better that Lucas had this power rather than anyone else.

Finally, after a moment, he sighed and sent his little brother a sideways look.

"Will's… _small. _And-and sensitive, and delicate, and I _know _what the kids at your school say about him. Hell, I remember what his _dad _said about him. It's not a secret. Fucking Lonnie Byers told anyone who would listen that he thought his son was…" Henry took a deep breath, and he threw a look out the window—maybe to collect his thoughts, maybe to hide his expression—before he continued, "It just makes me nervous."

The car was silent as Henry's words sank in. He hadn't wanted to admit it out loud, but it was the truth, and although his stomach twisted in anxiety for the missing kid, it was nice to not be the only one weighed down with those thoughts.

"You think someone did something to him?" Lucas asked, his voice much smaller than before, and Henry felt a stab of guilt for making his poor brother have to think about this too.

"I just think it's a possibility," Henry said, switching gears into reassuring, "Way more likely that he got lost in the woods or something. But, I am worried that maybe I'm the only one thinking that. That the police haven't considered it."

"You could go tell them," Lucas said, Henry sending him a look, "I bet they'd listen to you, or maybe if you went and talked to the Chief—."

"Oh, look. We're home."

Henry's deadpanned voice cut off Lucas's suggestion, and before he could continue, Henry had grabbed his backpack and gotten out of the car; effectively ending any conversation.

.

By the time the clock read 7:30, Henry was knee-deep in studying. Kaminsky tests were a bitch, and even if he thought he had a handle on the material, he was making absolutely sure that he wouldn't get tripped up by his own confidence.

His mind was full of nothing but science text and random facts that he knew he would forget the moment the semester ended when there was a knock on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Come in!" He called, leaning back in his chair to get a good look at who was entering his room, "Hey, Mom."

"Hi," Judith Sinclair replied with a small smile, "Is this what you're going to be doing for the night?"

Henry looked down at the mass of notes, flashcards, and textbooks on his desk before looking back up at his mom.

"I mean, yeah?" He said, frowning "Do you think I should be doing something else?"

Mrs. Sinclair laughed and shook her head.

"No, no, I was just wondering if you could keep an eye on your siblings while your father and I are out," she said, crossing the room so she could place a hand on Henry's shoulder.

"Yeah, no problem," he replied with a smile, "Where are you going?"

It was subtle, but Henry knew his mother well enough to see it; how her expression turned down slightly.

"We volunteered to help with the search party," she said softly, "It felt like the least we could do."

Henry nodded in understanding before he reached up and gently put his hand on top of his mom's. He knew what she was thinking about; how _close _it was to their family. It was quiet for a moment between them before Mrs. Sinclair straightened up and gave her son a squeeze on the shoulder.

"We won't be back until late, around eleven, so make sure they get to bed on time," she said as she walked towards the door, Henry humming an affirmative, "Oh, and keep an eye on Lucas… I'm worried about him."

"I've got it, Mom," Henry replied, as sure as ever, and Mrs. Sinclair smiled in thanks. She didn't know why she worried—she could always count on her son.

It was about two hours later when Henry shut his textbook and stretched. He'd been bent over his desk since his parents had left—with only brief bathroom and snack breaks—and his body did not appreciate it. Finally, he stood up, hearing his joints pop, and he headed out of his room and to the stairs; stopping halfway and leaning to see his sister sat a little too close to the TV.

"Okay, Erica, bedtime!" He called.

_"Awwww!"_

"Nope, I already let you stay up later than usual," Henry said seriously, although he _did _crack a smile at his younger sister's overdramatic whining, "C'mon."

Erica muttered under her breath, but she turned off the TV and walked over to the stairs; sticking her tongue out at Henry as she passed him. All it really did was make him smile wider, though.

"Where's Lucas?" Henry asked as he followed her up the stairs, Erica rolling her eyes.

"Probably in his room, talking to his nerd friends on his nerd phone."

"Hey," Henry said, a gentle warning to his tone, "Brush your teeth and get to bed."

"Fine," Erica said loftily before disappearing into the bathroom. Henry snorted, used to her attitude, before he rounded on his brother's shut door. Earlier, the three boys had been talking about Will's disappearance flippantly, but Henry wondered if Lucas's feelings had changed now that it was dark and Will was _still_ missing. Or, he thought, maybe Lucas's feelings had changed because of what he'd said in the car earlier today. If it was _his _fault for putting dark thoughts about Will's whereabouts in Lucas's head. Finally, Henry decided to just bite the bullet.

"Hey, Bud, you still up?" He asked, softly knocking on the door. Henry considered just walking away when there was no response, but his worry won out and he opened the door.

Instead of finding his brother asleep, or even that he wasn't in his room, Henry found Lucas looking _supremely _caught out.

From the shoes, to the coat, to the backpack, it wasn't hard for Henry to piece together what he was planning on doing. And clearly Lucas knew it.

It was quiet for a moment as Henry processed what he was seeing and Lucas scrambled for an excuse that he knew his big brother wouldn't buy. But, before an embarrassing lie could slip past his lips, Henry spoke with a low voice.

"Your friends meeting you?"

"… Yeah," Lucas said, instead of spitting out something half-baked. Henry nodded slightly in response and again, it was quiet. This time though, it was broken by a soft sigh.

"Mom and Dad are going to be back around eleven, and you know they'll come check on you," Henry said matter-of-factly, "So… you better be back by then."

Disbelief took over Lucas's expression, but that was the only part of him that changed. He didn't even look towards the door, as if he thought he'd misheard and that Henry hadn't _actually _just given him the okay.

"Don't give me a chance to change my mind," Henry finally said, laughing slightly. Only then did Lucas move; his lips pulling into a grin as he grabbed his bag and headed towards the stairs, "Hey."

Henry's voice froze him in his tracks, and Lucas slowly turned, almost as if he thought he'd taken too long and Henry really had second thoughts. But, instead of ordering him to put his pajamas on and go to bed, Henry just smiled ruefully.

"Be careful."

"Promise," Lucas replied, the two brothers smiling at each other for a moment more before he turned and left.

The front door opened and closed and the house grew quiet, Henry sighing before he headed back to his room. He knew he wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon.

.

Henry had been right: he hadn't even thought of getting to bed. At the moment, he was trying to study more for the test he had in less than twelve hours, but the words on the page ran together into a garble he couldn't even begin to comprehend. He shouldn't be studying, shouldn't even be trying—his mind was too preoccupied with all the terrible things that could be happening to his brother and his friends at this very moment.

A part of him wondered why the _hell _he'd let Lucas go. If a volunteer search group of adults couldn't do it, no way in hell three preteens stood a chance. At best, all the boys would find were mild cases of hypothermia going off of the weather, at worst… Well, maybe they'd find exactly what happened to Will.

He'd been counting on safety in numbers when he'd let Lucas go—thinking that his friends would have his back. And sure, they would, but did it really matter when they were children? They really couldn't do much if things went south, and instead of telling all of them to go home and forget about it, Henry had signed off on it. Practically shoved Lucas out the door.

How dumb was he? Did he want his brother and his friends to get hurt? He'd driven them home after school because the Chief had all but ordered him to, what was the response going to be when Hopper found out that he'd given them the go ahead to do exactly what he'd told them _not _to? Why'd he do that?!

The pencil that Henry had been nervously twisting in his fingers stilled, and without prompting, his eyes drifted down to the bottom shelf of his desk. For a moment, he just looked at it, not wanting to give in, before he sighed and reached over to reveal the jumbled contents. Over the years, he'd used this drawer as a catch-all, so much that he wasn't entirely certain what was in here anymore.

Except for one thing.

The one thing he knew for certain, because he remembered putting it in there and shutting the drawer with finality. Like, if he didn't look at it, he wouldn't ever have to think about that time of his life again.

The moment his fingers brushed against the rough construction paper, he knew he'd found it. As he slid it out from under everything else in the drawer, he couldn't help but look away; putting off the inevitable just a little bit longer. But, he finally had it in front of him, and there was no escaping it any longer.

**_HENRY SINCLAIR: THE INDESTRUCTIBLE TEEN!_**

Henry let out a shaky chuckle, more due to relief than humor, and he smiled as something bittersweet bloomed in his chest. It was just as he remembered it; the juvenile block lettering at the top, the wobbly—but still impressive—illustration of himself standing tall with a superhero's cape flowing from his shoulders, and the small message in the bottom right corner.

_"i hope you get better fast! 3 will byers_"

The sound of the backdoor opening jerked Henry out of his memory, and he quickly shoved the card back in the drawer before hopping down the stairs. Although he played it cool, Henry breathed a sigh of relief as he finally laid eyes on Lucas, seemingly unscathed.

"You good?"

Lucas screeched and nearly fell flat on his ass, if it weren't for his arms flinging out and catching Henry's. His older brother set him upright and chuckled with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Someone's on edge," he observed.

"Yeah," Lucas said before forcing out laughter that left Henry more suspicious than anything else.

"Something wrong?" Henry asked, Lucas swallowing hard.

"Nope."

For a moment it was quiet as the two brothers engaged in what could only be described as a stare-off, before Lucas painted a ridiculous smile on his features and Henry withdrew.

"Okay…" Henry mumbled before speaking up, "Well, go get ready for bed, then. I don't want Mom and Dad to know that I even let you stay up this late."

Lucas nodded before hurrying upstairs while Henry watched him with a furrowed brow. He followed soon after, at a much more leisurely pace, and was just in time to see Lucas as he crossed the hallway—now in his pajamas—and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Henry frowned at the door for a moment, but said nothing, and instead continued on his path to his own room; idly scooping up his notes up off his desk and shoving them into his backpack as he listened to the sink running.

Too soon after Lucas had entered the bathroom (Henry really should get on him to brush his teeth longer), he was walking back to his room. For a moment, Henry lingered in his own room—not wanting to make it seem like he was waiting to pounce on him—before he headed over next door, catching Lucas just as he slid under the covers.

"All of your homework is done, right?" Henry asked, knowing he should've made sure of that _before _he let Lucas go traipsing through the woods on a school night. But, Lucas nodded, and it was quiet between the two brothers for a moment, before Henry cleared his throat, "Okay. Goodnight."

"We didn't find him."

Henry was halfway out the door when that quiet voice called his attention back. Lucas was still in bed, but only now did he notice how tightly he was enveloped in his blankets, and how he seemed smaller than Henry could remember him looking in quite a while.

"Yeah, I didn't think so, Bud," he finally replied gently, his movements slow as he crossed the room to sit down on the side of Lucas's bed. Now that there wasn't a room's length distance between them, Henry could clearly see the expression on his younger brother's face; could clearly see that he was feeling lost, more lost than Henry thought a kid should be.

"Hey," he said, grabbing Lucas's attention, "You know, no matter what happens, it's going to be okay."

"But, Will—." Lucas started, sitting up on his elbows.

"I didn't say it was going to be easy, or that it wasn't going to _suck_, but…" Henry interrupted, before trailing off and adopting a wry smile, "Take it from Hawkins's patron saint of misery: it'll be okay. You've got Dustin and Mike. They're going through the exact same stuff as you, that makes it easier, trust me."

"Is that why you let me go?" Lucas asked, Henry dropping his head and smiling; he hadn't been the only one wondering why the hell he'd given the okay, "Because I was with my friends?"

"Yeah, that was part of it," he confirmed, "And… I'd do the same thing if I were you."

Lucas nodded, but his expression didn't change. He looked just as lost as before, and Henry frowned. Time to get serious.

"Will is really lucky to have friends like you guys, you know that right?" He said, piquing Lucas's attention with that one, "I mean, most people don't have one friend who'd do what you did tonight, let alone three."

"But, we didn't find him," Lucas pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but you _tried_. And I know you'll _keep_ trying, and that you won't stop until you do."

"But, what if we waste too much time focused on—focused on other things and we don't find him before…?" The rest of Lucas's sentence went unsaid, but Henry heard it, loud and clear. He put his hands on Lucas's shoulders and looked him dead in the eye.

"Then you'll have to go through that, but it won't be your fault. None of this will ever be on you."

Lucas broke eye contact and Henry knew that he didn't accept what he'd said. His expression was just as conflicted and lost as ever, only this time Henry noticed something he hadn't before. Something that took him a few moments to place.

_Guilt._

And in that moment, Henry couldn't help but wonder if maybe the reason his words weren't helping was because he didn't have the full story.

"You know… If there's something you're not telling me—."

"What? No, no. I mean, why-why wouldn't I tell you?" Lucas tripped over himself ask he spoke, and Henry's frown deepened at how _adamant _he was.

"Okay, well, if there was. _If. _If," Henry said when Lucas opened his mouth to interrupt, probably to insist that there wasn't anything, "You know you can trust me, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he replied flippantly, Henry sending him a look that made him pay attention.

"Seriously, Lucas. If there's anything, if there's _ever _anything, you can tell me. Alright? I've got your back, and there's _nothing _that could ever change that."

Lucas was quiet; he'd dropped his eyes to his comforter the moment he'd seen the intense emotion in Henry's eyes, and he hadn't raised them since. Instead, he pulled on a stray thread as Henry's words hung in the air. Finally, he spoke, slow and labored.

"Would… Would you still have my back if…? If I said you're the biggest loser alive?"

Lucas looked up with that familiar spark in his eyes and Henry felt his own smile return. Sure, it was an obvious subject change, but Henry couldn't bring himself to care. He knew that he'd gotten through to him.

Maybe Lucas was hiding something, and maybe that something was why he had been jumpy and had looked so lost and guilty. Or, maybe not. Maybe this was all just something Henry's anxiety and paranoia had cooked up. Maybe the only thing that was weighing on Lucas was his missing friend. Either way, Lucas knew that he was in his corner, no matter what, and that was enough for Henry.

"I mean, it's pushing it," Henry said, grinning, "It's definitely pushing it."

This time, when there was a lull in the conversation, it was because of laughter rather than silence.


	3. omission and boldfaced

Henry was late.

Okay, he wasn't _late _late. Just, later then he liked to be on a test day. He liked to take his time getting to class, go over his notes again at his desk, and overall not feel rushed. But, here he was, all but running towards Hawkins' High. A part of him wanted to blame Lucas for keeping him up until all hours worrying, but he knew better. There was no one to blame for this but himself.

Henry glanced down at his watch and huffed at the time as he reached out to pull the door open.

_"Shit."_

He looked up in time to watch how wrenching the door open suddenly had caused someone on the other side to drop a stack of paper. Regret instantly filled his stomach and he inwardly cursed himself for not paying attention to his surroundings. He'd inconvenienced someone else and, well, he was probably going to be even later to class now.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," Henry said, dropping to his knees to help gather them up. What had started as an apologetic gesture stopped suddenly when he picked up one of the pieces of paper and finally saw what was on it; an unreadable expression on his face as he looked down at the picture at the center of the page.

Will Byers stared back.

Henry only paused for a moment before he pushed aside his thoughts and continued to pick up the papers—which he now knew were missing posters—before he held them out towards the teenager he hadn't realized was Jonathan Byers until just now.

The pair of teenage boys climbed up off the ground, and Jonathan reordered the pages into a neat pile as an uncomfortable silence hung over them.

"Sorry again," Henry said, his voice now a little too genuine for someone who'd just accidentally knocked some stuff out of someone's hands. Henry caught himself looking away and forced himself to make eye contact, no matter how painful it was, but he found that it didn't matter; Jonathan was looking down at the papers in his hands with an unnecessary amount of focus.

"It's fine," Jonathan muttered, not sounding terribly sincere, "I was just…"

He turned towards the exit, but Henry made no move to head towards his classroom, and instead watched him as he went. What had felt so pressing moments ago didn't seem so important anymore.

"Hey, Jonathan?" Henry called before he walked out the door to go god knows where, "I'm really sorry about your brother."

"Thanks," Jonathan replied, again not making eye contact _or_ sounding like he meant it. Henry didn't take this one personally either. He got it. He also got why Jonathan was edging towards the door. But, he didn't let him go, not just yet.

"A few months ago, I took him and Lucas and the other boys to see _Return of the Jedi," _Henry said, and for the first time Jonathan didn't look like he wanted to be anywhere but this conversation, "He cried at the end, even though he'd seen the movie like three times already."

Henry laughed slightly, not even paying attention to Jonathan anymore. He was too wrapped up in the memory that seemed so distant already.

It had only been a few tears, and Will had pretended so obstinately that he wasn't, but he definitely had been crying. Henry didn't blame him; it was the end of the story, and the definition of bittersweet. Even if the good guys had won, there had been losses, and… They didn't talk about it, but Henry had understood why watching someone who had been so bad do something good because of his love for his son might have made Will emotional. They also didn't talk about how Henry had made Lucas sit in the backseat with Dustin and Mike, and let Will control the radio during the drive home. It had been such a small thing, but Will had smiled so brightly that Henry couldn't help but return it. God, had that really only been six months ago? Because right now, it couldn't feel farther away.

"He cried when I took him to see it the first time too," Jonathan said softly, pulling Henry out of his thoughts and forcing him to acknowledge that they were making eye contact for the first time. He smiled and, even thought it was nearly unbearably sad to see, Henry had to admit—emotion looked better on Jonathan Byers than the forced apathy he'd worn moments ago.

"He's a good kid," Henry said, with his own rueful smile, "And if there's anything you or-or your mom need, let me know. Even if it's mowing the lawn or something."

"Thanks," Jonathan said, _finally_ genuine.

"Anytime," Henry replied, and when Jonathan headed out the door, he didn't stop him.

The bell rang, and Henry swore.

.

"I have _never _seen Henry Sinclair show up late to class, _especially _on a test day."

Henry smiled and shook his head slightly before he sent a sideways glance at the woman who sidled up to him with an exaggerated disapproving look.

"He didn't even give me a tardy," Henry replied, chuckling slightly when Barb _tsked._

"I can't help but wonder if this is only the start to your downslide?" She said as the pair made their way out of the bottlenecked door and down the hall, "What's next? Not turning in homework? Falling asleep at your desk?"

"I've done that last one," Henry replied, "In _that _class."

The pair's banter was cut short by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them, and they both turned to see who was trying to get their attention. Nancy wore that same uncomfortable expression she had when she'd caught them talking yesterday, but she plowed on nonetheless.

"How do you two think you did?"

"Well, I don't think I _failed," _Henry offered, Nancy and Barb smiling, "But, I certainly didn't ace it."

"No one aces Kaminsky," Barb replied, Henry sending her a look.

"I've _seen _your 100% exams."

Barb rolled her eyes, but Henry could tell from her smile that his words were more appreciated than she was letting on. Nancy smiled too, but Henry tried to ignore that one. Not that she was annoying or had an ugly smile or anything, it was just… He knew what that smile meant—he'd seen it on his mother's face when he'd had Barb over for dinner—and he didn't like it. Didn't like to even _think_ about it.

"I have to run to my next class, but, um, Barb?" Nancy said, catching her friend's attention so she could speak a little bit lower, a little more intimately, "Don't forget about the, uh, thing."

"Right, yeah," Barb said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. Nancy just smiled though, probably because she read Barb's discomfort as being something different than what it was, and she started walking away.

"I'll see you later. Nice talking to you, Henry."

"You too," Henry replied, waiting until Nancy was out of earshot before he looked over at Barb, "'The thing?'"

"A party," Barb said hesitantly, Henry raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do Barbara Holland and Nancy Wheeler go to parties?" He asked, only a little bit joking.

"Since Nancy's started dating Steve Harrington," Barb replied, getting only silence at that. There was too much history there for Henry to get snappy, "His parents are out of town, and he invited us and Tommy H and Carol over. Nancy was talking to me earlier about asking you to come."

"Oh," Henry offered.

"I guess she thinks you and I are…" Barb trailed off, but Henry understood all the same.

"Not surprising," he said, shrugging slightly in an attempt to make this not awkward.

"Yeah, not surprising," Barb murmured to herself, before she looked up at Henry, "So, what do you think? Do you want to come?"

"Uh…"

It's not that Henry didn't want to. He liked parties, he was usually invited to the bigger ones, and when he went he always had a good time. He liked dancing, talking, and drinking until he felt loose enough to forget his problems, but not enough to let things slip. And he liked doing things with Barb. She understood him, maybe more than anyone else, and it was nice to be around someone like that after spending so long feeling alone. But, there was one glaring problem with all of this.

Steve Harrington.

There wasn't a single doubt in Henry's mind that he was the biggest douchebag to ever walk the halls of Hawkins High.

He couldn't imagine what it was like for Barb to have her best friend—the person she cared about so deeply—start messing around with him. Steve, Tommy H, and Carol were all so obnoxious that Henry did everything he could to avoid having to interact with them. Sure, when fate pushed him into a situation where he had to, he was nothing but amicable—he didn't even think they _realized_ he disliked them—but the entire time he'd be holding back the eye rolls and sharp words that rested right on the tip of his tongue. Thankfully, that never lasted long (King Steve had more important things to do than mingle with Henry Sinclair), and he could go right back to trying to pretend he didn't exist.

And yeah, sure, maybe the reason he disliked Steve more than anyone else was because, unlike Tommy H or really any of the other assholes (who were probably worse than him), he was actually kind of _cute. _But, great hair and a nice face meant absolutely nothing when you were a rich kid doing the most he can to be the biggest prick on the planet. Seriously, what a complete waste.

He wouldn't admit this to just anyone—he didn't need people running their mouths all over school—but Barb knew. Barb had brought him up enough times with a sneer that he'd felt comfortable enough to let her know his true feelings. It had been a bonding point early on, when they were still new to being friends and being understood, and although he'd never know it, Steve Harrington had made Henry and Barb better friends just by being the worst.

And so, when she asked, there was no hiding how he really felt about going to a party at his house.

"Forget it," Barb said, Henry's expression immediately dropping.

"Hey, wait, I'll go," he protested, "I mean, he's not my favorite person, but I don't want you to feel alone or anything. If you want me there, I will be."

"I don't," Barb said bluntly, Henry's brow furrowing, "I don't want you there. You know why?"

"Because I'm an asshole?" Henry hazard a guess, Barb laughing slightly and shaking her head. When she looked up at him again, and he saw her soft gaze, Henry knew that his guess had been way off.

"They don't deserve you."

"What?" Henry asked, his brow still furrowed but now his lips pulling up slightly at the edges.

"They don't deserve you," Barb repeated, "You are just too good for them. They don't deserve to be your friend, or to have you at their party, or even to know you."

Henry stopped and Barb followed suit; neither one giving a single thought to how they blocked the hallway. Instead, they just looked at each other. Barb, with nothing but sincerity on her expression, and Henry, with something soft on his that most people would never get to see.

"You want to hang out later this week?" Henry finally asked, his voice quieter now, "Celebrate making it through that test?"

"I would like that a lot," Barb replied, with a moment of comfortable silence following, "I've got to get to my next class."

"Yeah, me too," Henry said, the pair smiling at each other for one more moment before they broke apart. Henry heading down one way of the Hawkins' High halls, and Barb going down the other.

But, before either could get far, Henry found himself stopping and looking over to see his friend starting to disappear into the crowd.

"Hey, Barb?" He called, catching her attention just in time. She turned to him with an expectant expression, but not impatient or annoyed. Just, openness and acceptance, like it always was between them.

"They don't deserve you either."

Neither one said anything more, and after a moment they'd break apart and head towards their classes, but it didn't matter. Their smiles said everything.

.

That evening was a quiet one. Lucas was having dinner with the Wheelers and Henry's parents were still a bit muted from the night before. Henry wasn't sure whether it was because they'd been up later than usual, or because there was still no sign of Will Byers, but he didn't ask. Instead, he just ate his food in relative silence; only speaking when spoken to, which wasn't very much at all.

"Henry, Honey?" Judith said, pulling her son's attention away from his plate, "Have you noticed Lucas acting strange lately?"

Henry had never been more thankful for the "no talking with your mouth full" rule than in that moment. He had a hard time lying to his mother, even if he'd spent a lot of his life doing just that. It was the direct questions that tripped him up; he usually waited too long between hearing them and answering. It gave him right away. But, since he'd just taken a large bite of chicken, he was in luck, and his pause was covered by his chewing.

"Yeah, I guess," Henry said, not making eye contact, "But, I mean, his friend's missing."

"No, more recent than that," Judith replied, Henry holding back a wince, "This morning, he was—he was just weird, right?"

"Maybe it's just setting in?" He offered, trying to cover up his actual thoughts, which all pointed to the truth being a big fat _yes._

_Yes, _Lucas was acting weird. He'd been acting weird ever since Henry had decided it was A-Okay for three twelve year olds to go out in the woods, at night, by themselves, looking for a fourth twelve year old who had gone missing due to unknown causes. But frankly, Henry didn't feel like opening those floodgates onto himself and Lucas, so he kept his mouth shut about it. He doubted that the (deserved) wrath that would be rained on the two of them would help much anyway.

"I don't understand how anyone can tell if Lucas is acting weird," Erica piped up, drawing her family's attention to her, "Lucas is _always _weird."

Charles cleared his throat, and Erica's expression immediately morphed into the picture of innocence, as if they hadn't all _just _heard her trash talk her brother. Henry and his mother exchanged a glance with their lips pulling up, and although his father rolled his eyes, there was no denying that he was also almost smiling.

Dinner continued in companionable silence, and it felt as if there was nothing in the world that could disrupt their family's serenity.

.

"Have you seen Barb?"

Henry looked up from where he was shoving his notebook in his backpack without having fully processed the question. It was already the end of second period, but he still wasn't fully present. He'd been up late last night; his mind a jumble of all the anxieties pressing down on him. Everything from Will Byers being missing to Lucas acting weird to Barb going to a party had plagued his thoughts, and made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. He'd finally managed it in the hours that could be classified as both late night and early morning.

He'd been taking it easy, mostly out of necessity, but now Nancy Wheeler was standing in front of his desk with a concerning frown, and he didn't feel so laid-back anymore.

"No," He replied, just now realizing that was a little strange, "Is something wrong?"

"She wasn't in class earlier," Nancy said, her frown not letting up for a second.

"Maybe she's skipping," Henry offered, reassuring himself more than anything else.

"That's not like Barb, though," Nancy replied, Henry nodding as he zipped his backpack closed.

"Yeah, but it's also not like Barb to go to a party," he said, standing and shrugging slightly, "Who knows. She could just be taking a day."

"You know about Steve's?" Nancy said, her concern briefly disappearing behind confusion.

"Barb told me." Henry's reply was simple, but it was enough to evoke a surprised response.

"Oh, I thought…" Nancy trailed off, and it was easy to tell that she'd realized that what she was thinking wasn't appropriate to say to Henry's face. But, rather than let her flounder, Henry spoke again as he already began to edge past her towards the door.

"Not my scene."

Henry managed to slip past Nancy before she could say anything else, but now that she'd brought it to his attention that Barb wasn't at school, it was all he could think about.

Last night, when his mind had turned to Barb, he'd thought about how she'd never been to a party. At least, not one with drinking and flirting and other things parents frown upon. He couldn't help but worry about how she was handling it. Don't get him wrong, he knew she was a big girl who could drink a beer if she wanted to, it was just… with Steve, Tommy, and Carol? They _thrived _off of tearing into people who didn't meet their expectations of cool. Hesitant around alcohol? Prepare to be taunted for the rest of the night (and maybe even at school if they really didn't like you). Henry didn't want that to happen to Barb.

He'd had half a mind to go to the stupid party, but whenever he felt a particularly strong urge to hop in his car and drive over, he'd remember Barb's words, and he'd find himself falling back into his pillows.

Now he was starting to wonder if that had been the wrong thing to do.

Nancy hadn't said anything about how it had gone last night, but he hadn't exactly given her much of a chance. He would admit that he'd rushed out of that conversation a little bit, but he knew it was better than snapping at Nancy. She hadn't done anything wrong, not really, but between the way she made Barb feel and the assumptions she made about them, he felt something a little bitter in his throat when he looked at her.

As Henry pushed the door to his next class open, he also pushed away thoughts of Nancy Wheeler. He needed to talk to Barb, see if she was doing okay. He was new to this whole "best friend" thing, but he knew well enough that this fell under things he should do to be a good one. If she didn't show herself by the end of the day, he'd call her after school. Maybe even go over to her house if whatever was keeping her from school was that bad.

And maybe it was because he'd gone two nights in a row without getting enough sleep, but just like that, it was the end of the day. Henry hoped that in his trance he'd managed to take some halfway decent notes, because god knows his brain hadn't retained _any_ of it.

As he walked out of a classroom he only halfway recalled walking into, he struggled to remember if they'd been assigned any homework or not. Although a part of him wanted to leave it up to chance and hope they hadn't, he knew he would only find out otherwise and lose his shit the next time he went to class. So, when he caught sight of some familiar blonde curls, he picked up the pace slightly.

"Hey, Mary!"

Henry waved slightly when she turned, and she waited for him to get closer before speaking.

"Hey," she said with a small smile the screamed _we're just acquaintances. _They'd nearly been friends last year, when they'd been lab partners—bonded over a mutual appreciation for Madonna and a mutual hatred for frog dissections—but it had ended after that class. Henry knew he could've kept up that friendship, that people would think he probably _should've, _but he hadn't. Mary was nice and cool and funny, but he knew better than that. He knew better than getting close.

"Do we have homework?" He asked, reaching out to hold the door open for her.

"Yeah," Mary said, walking past him but waiting for him to catch up before she continued walking, "We're supposed to do the reading and then write a page on what we think the author was trying to convey with the story."

"The reading?" Henry said hesitantly, Mary snorting and sending him a look.

"You _really _weren't paying attention, huh?" She said, her smile letting him know that she thought it was more cute than anything else, "Chapter 12, _The Lottery _by Shirley Jackson."

_"The Lottery. _Shirley Jackson," Henry repeated, hoping that would be enough for him to remember, "Okay. Thanks, Mary."

"No problem," she replied, but before Henry could head off to his car, she spoke again, "It's because of Barbara Holland, right?"

Henry paused, and looked over at her as his stomach sank. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to; his expression was enough for Mary to smile and nod slightly.

"Ally said she wasn't in class. And she told me a couple of days ago she saw you two giggling together in the halls," she said before chuckling slightly, "Jesus, you don't have to look so guilty. It's sweet. She's sweet."

Henry forced a small smile at that, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't. He'd known this was coming, but it still stung and he had no idea how to deal with it. Let people think that and keep it as a safety net for the two of them? Or try to squash it right now so he wouldn't have to face those knowing smiles anymore?

Thankfully, he didn't need to respond at all, because something else caught Mary's attention.

"Um… you can go on ahead, I'm going to wait here until this finishes."

Henry frowned, not knowing what she was talking about for a moment, before he turned to look the same direction as Mary and his eyes fell on the group of people converged beside an older Ford LTD (parked next to Mary's Toyota Carina). Instantly, a bitter taste developed in his throat as he took in the scene.

They were too far to really hear anything, but close enough to easily grasp what was unfolding in the middle of the Hawkins' High parking lot. Steve Harrington, in all of his douchbaggery and fluffy haired glory, was glaring down at Jonathan Byers with a glint in his eye that made Henry's insides squirm. Instead of dwelling on what exactly _that_ reaction was, Henry focused on the heat that began to flare in his chest. It was a dangerous feeling, he knew it. The kind of feeling that made people do stupid things, like stalk across a parking lot to defend the school freak from the people who could make his life at school hell on earth.

"Jesus," Henry muttered under his breath, just barely controlling that feeling now, "Are they _really _picking on the guy whose little brother is missing?"

"You didn't hear?" Mary said, Henry not looking away from what was happening but shaking his head nonetheless, "You're _really _out of it without Barb."

"What happened?" Henry said, deciding to ignore that last part.

"Jonathan Byers took creepy pictures of Nancy Wheeler from the woods."

_"What?" _Henry replied, snapping his head to look over at her. All at once, what had burned inside of him disappeared, and only a shocked hollowness remained. Of all the reasons for them to be bullying Jonathan, he wouldn't have guessed one that was so… so… _justifiable._

"Yeah, apparently Harrington and her and their friends were all hanging out at his house and Jonathan took pictures of them. Nicole caught him developing them in the darkroom," Mary said, leaning in closer and speaking in a lower tone, "Apparently the ones of Nancy are particularly scandalous."

"That's…" Henry didn't even finish his sentence, he couldn't think of a word that fully encompassed what he was feeling right now.

The righteous anger that had been so hard to control not moments ago was nowhere to be found now. He doubted he would've done anything even if Jonathan Byers was completely innocent in this situation, but he would've felt that burning of injustice in his core and the guilt of not doing anything in his stomach. In a way, he was almost happy that Jonathan was a total creep, because that absolved him from doing anything. It meant he didn't have to deal with the fact that he was a coward today.

_Almost _happy.

Mostly just sick.

Because that was awful. Nancy being violated like that was awful. Steve Harrington, Tommy H, and Carol being violated like that was awful.

_Barb _being violated like that was awful.

He needed to get home and call her. He needed to find out _exactly _why she hadn't been at school today.

Rather than continue to watch this all go down, Henry turned in the direction of his car. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about the way Steve and his buddies loomed over Jonathan, he didn't care about the conversation he'd had with Jonathan yesterday, he didn't care that it had been one of the most genuine exchanges he'd had outside of Lucas and Barb in a while. All he could think about was getting home and making sure that his best friend was okay.

The sound of Jonathan's camera smashing against the pavement echoed throughout the parking lot, but Henry didn't even care enough to look.

.

"You doing okay over there, Henry?"

It had been another mostly silent dinner at the Sinclair's, and uncommon occurrence that had now happened two nights in a row. But, it was explainable: Lucas was off with his friends again, and without him or Henry pushing along the conversation, the table took on a certain muted tone.

When his mother's words had cut through the silence, Henry had looked up from where he was pushing his food around on his plate and over to her, only to find that she'd been looking at him with barely concealed concern.

"Yep," he offered, stabbing a piece of broccoli and shoving it in his mouth, hoping that would be the end of it. It never was.

"How was school?" Judith attempted casually, not really pulling it off.

"Fine."

"How's Barb?" Judith asked, hitting on the heart of the issue without fully realizing it. It took a moment, but Henry finally just shrugged, unsure of what to say, "Heard you asking for her on the phone earlier."

"Yeah," Henry replied slowly, "Her parents said she was at Nancy Wheeler's."

That wasn't a lie. It wasn't. Her parents _had _said that. He just happened to know that was completely false. But, it wasn't a lie, just like how he hadn't lied to Mrs. Holland. He just neglected to mention that he knew Barb wasn't at Nancy's, and that Nancy was starting to get worried.

He knew he should've told her, but he just couldn't. Maybe because telling her would mean that it was real, or maybe he was just scared of what would happen if Barb was actually fine and he totally blew her cover. Either way, he'd chosen the coward's way out and had just accepted what Mrs. Holland said without questioning it; hanging up while a terrible feeling blossomed in his chest. A feeling that hadn't left him, and only grew more and more oppressive as time went on.

"Well, I'm sure she'll be happy to talk to you tomorrow," Judith said, trying to reassure her son even though she didn't really know what she was talking about. Henry tried to appreciate the effort, but he just couldn't get himself to care about anything other than the sick feeling in his stomach.

"Can I be excused?" He said instead, both of his parents frowning at that, "My car was making a funny sound on the way home and I want to take a look at it."

_Not a lie._

"You barely touched your dinner," Judith pointed out, Henry shrugging.

"Not hungry, I guess."

_Not a lie._

"What about your homework?" His father piped up.

"Finished it right after school."

_Not a lie._

"Well, clear your dishes," Judith finally said, clearly reluctant to let him go, but unable to find a reason to make him stay at the table. Henry gathered up his plate and glass before kicking his chair in as he headed towards the kitchen counter. Only once he'd emptied his plate into the garbage (only feeling minor guilt at throwing out some perfectly good food) and dropped his dishes into the sink did anyone in the Sinclair family speak. Only this time it wasn't one of the adults prying at their son, or Henry trying to gently deflect their questions.

"You're acting weird," Erica said, judgmental and suspicious as ever, "You're acting like _Lucas_. Do you two have some weird nerd secret or something?"

Henry felt both of his parents' eyes on him. They didn't even try to correct Erica's attitude like they usually did, probably because what she'd said had hit a chord with them. They were too interested in the answer to care about how the question had been asked.

He didn't reply for a moment, but just as quick as the silence had settled on them, it was broken. Henry's winning smile appeared (although the ends didn't curl up quite right) and he spoke.

"Lucas and I aren't hiding anything. Don't worry about it."

_Lie._

_._

Henry had found the cause of the funny sound his car was making in six minutes, he'd fixed it in thirteen.

He was in the garage for over two hours

Some of that time had been devoted to other parts of the car; little tune ups here and there, and checking to make sure that his old fixes were still holding up and he wouldn't have to repair them soon. Hell, he'd even cleaned out the backseat, which had started to accumulate a little too much garbage for comfort. But, most of it had been spent pretending to work on his car, while actually just using it as an excuse for quiet contemplation. He'd always found spending time alone in the garage to be calming, kind of like meditation. And it still was. He felt more relaxed than he had been at the dinner table. But, there was still a deep-seated anxiety tugging at his nerves that not even being under the hood of the Oldsmobile could get rid of.

He knew one thing that would help. But, his parents were still up, and with the way he'd been acting earlier he wouldn't be surprised if one of them ducked into the garage to check on him. He wasn't in the mood to be caught doing something he shouldn't be, so he managed to keep himself from dipping into the stash he kept hidden in his toolbox.

He considered going for a drive, a surefire way he wouldn't get caught, but he quickly realized that there was no way he could bring himself to leave the house right now. Not if there was a chance of a phone call coming his way.

Henry sighed and leaned against the hood of his car; feeling more trapped than ever. His friend was nowhere to be found and here he was, stuck in his garage, pretending to fix a car so he didn't have to deal with his parents. He didn't know what to do in this situation, but he knew that this wasn't it.

Henry rubbed his face as his mind continued to assault him with all sorts of insults and stupid ideas, but he dropped his hands and looked up when the familiar sound of wheels on pavement reached his ears.

"Hey, man," he called into the darkness beyond the garage door, pushing aside his anxieties for now, "What's going—?"

Lucas fully came into view and Henry stopped short, silence falling between the two Sinclair boys for a moment. Even the sound of pedaling was gone, because Lucas had stopped once he'd made it to the entrance of the garage and had made no move to do anything but stare at his big brother with a strange expression. The kind of expression that tipped Henry off immediately and set off a sinking feeling in his stomach. After far too many unbearably quiet seconds ticked by with both of them frozen in their spots, Henry spoke with a hushed voice he so rarely used.

"What happened?"

Lucas's bike fell to the pavement with a crash. Whatever had held him in place just moments ago was gone now, and he rushed across the space between them; nearly knocking Henry over with the force that he hit him with. But, he didn't care, and he hugged his brother back with just as much intensity.

Henry didn't ask. He didn't ask when Lucas grabbed onto him like he was the only thing anchoring him to the Earth. He didn't ask when Lucas shook in his arms harder than he ever had before. He didn't ask when Lucas's hot tears soaked through his shirt sleeve. Instead, he just tightened his embrace, as if that would make this all better. As if Henry could take away all of his little brother's pain just by holding him close.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if Henry asked, because Lucas would answer any questions unprompted, all with a single word muttered between sobs.

_"Will."_

Henry pulled him impossibly closer, only this time it was for his own benefit. This time it was so he could be absolutely certain that his own little brother was right here, safe. This time it was so he could find his own comfort in his brother as images of a sensitive young boy who cried at Star Wars paired with the knowledge that something terrible had happened forced their way into his mind.

But, he didn't let that show. Instead, he focused on Lucas, who buried his face in his neck as he cried. He rubbed circles on his back and never let up his grip on him; whispering soft reassurances even though he knew how hollow they were right now.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay. I promise."

_Lie._


	4. emotional overload

"If you don't shut him the hell up…"

Henry let the rest of his threat go un-mumbled, mostly because he was too tired to even try to think of some consequence that would undoubtedly go unfulfilled. Instead, he just burrowed deeper into the pillows and tried to block out the static-y sounds of Mike Wheeler.

He didn't know if this was a common occurrence, Mike bothering his brother at—Henry rolled over and grimaced—9:42 in the morning.

Alright, in his defense, he'd been up most of the night.

_"Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas—."_

"Dude, just answer!" Henry said, raising his head from his pillow to use a tone he regretted immediately. Just because Mike was being annoying didn't mean that he should just snap at his grieving brother. Thankfully, it didn't seem to hurt Lucas's feelings too deeply, because he just sat up and grabbed the walkie-talkie.

"Go away, Mike," he said, his voice a forced calm that made Henry swallow a little hard, "I'm not in the mood, alright? Over and out."

_"No, not 'out.' I'm not messing around, okay? This is about Will."_

It was quiet as Mike's words sunk in for the two Sinclair boys. Even though he was looking at him from the back, Henry could see how Lucas had tensed. Finally, he took it upon himself to break the silence.

"Hey, I'm going to go take a shower," Henry said softly, because even though he might say otherwise, he knew that Lucas needed his friends right now more than anything, and that meant giving him privacy, "Just… shout if you need me."

"Okay," Lucas said, not making a move to reply to Mike until Henry had stumbled out of bed and walked past his doorway. Distantly, he could hear how his brother was mumbling into the walkie-talkie, but he forced himself to ignore it. He didn't have to exercise too much self-restraint when the sound of the shower running drowned it all out.

Once he was under the hot water, he felt a tension he hadn't even noticed in his shoulders and back disappear. He wasn't relaxed, not exactly, but he felt a lot better. Not light, but lighter.

But, that all came crashing down when everything that happened in the past 12 hours came flooding back. His brother coming home in tears and the terrible sick feelings that came with that; having to be the one to explain what had happened to his parents; getting Lucas to bed and comforting him through the night while his own anxieties and grief continued to press down on him; and his mother coming into Lucas's room earlier that morning, and telling him that she'd called them both out of school with a look on her face that he never wanted to see again. It had all been so much, _so much _to handle. So much so that he'd hardly had the chance to consider everything _else. _

Barb.

Somehow, in the midst of everything, his best friend's unknown whereabouts had taken a backseat. Yeah, sure, maybe that was normal. Maybe it was to be expected when a missing child's body is found to put everything else aside, but… He'd _forgotten. _Henry had _forgotten _about Barb. And maybe… maybe it wasn't just because of—because of _Will. _Maybe it was because of Henry. Maybe it was because he didn't want to admit it to himself.

Barbara Holland was _missing._

That _horrible _truth now acknowledged, the guilt that Henry had been barely holding back crashed down on him in waves. Thoughts of Barb mingled with ones of Will, and for the first time since this awful turn of events had started, Henry cried.

.

The house was quiet when Henry got out of the shower, and he didn't even need to look at the note on his bed to know that Lucas had left. Henry had rolled his eyes slightly at the hastily scribbled message, but he didn't feel too bad about his brother ditching him. He knew he needed his friends right now and besides, it was probably best for Henry to be alone right now. He'd cried himself out, but he still felt a little tender. Like if you pressed him, he'd break a little easier than usual.

Now, with the house all to himself, the quiet felt more oppressive than soothing. He considered turning on some music to just disrupt the silence, but no sooner did he think that did he dismiss it. It felt wrong. Wrong to try to push away all the discomfort with music while… while all of this happened.

He could call the Hollands again, he supposed. Maybe they would pick up and tell him that Barb had stopped by to get breakfast before running off to school. Or maybe that she was skipping today because she wasn't feeling to well, but that she'd call him once she was better. Maybe at least one part of this nightmare wouldn't be so bad.

Or maybe it wouldn't be.

Maybe he would call and she wouldn't be there. Maybe he would call and Mrs. Holland would finally understand that something was wrong. Maybe he would call and Barb would still be missing.

He needed to get out of here.

Henry grabbed his coat off the hanger and grabbed his keys out of the bowl; feeling like he _needed _to get out of this house. Like, if he didn't, he'd explode or suffocate or _something. _With that unending weight crushing down on him, Henry jerked the door open, only to come face-to-face with possibly the last person he would expect on his front porch.

Nancy Wheeler.

She looked just as surprised as he felt, with her hand posed to knock, and suddenly Henry felt a little sheepish about his hurried actions.

"Hi," he finally managed, unsure of what to say.

"Hi," Nancy replied, equally as awkward.

It was quiet for a moment.

"Um…" Henry finally started, looking around as if someone was going to jump out and reveal this was all a prank or something, "Is there a reason you're standing on my front porch?"

"Oh, right, yeah, yeah," Nancy said, shaking her head slightly and almost smiling, probably at herself for how silly she'd been acting, "I know this is weird, but… can we talk?"

.

"So, I went back to Steve's and her car was still there. And… I went to go look for her in the woods and I swear I saw a man there, but… I know how this sounds, but he didn't have a face. And I can't help but feel that he—_he _did something to Barb."

Henry's frown deepened as Nancy slowly told her story. He hadn't said a word since they'd sat down at the kitchen table, and instead just let her go without interruption. But, that changed now, because it was clear from her expression that she wouldn't be saying anything else unless he prompted her.

"Did you tell anyone about this?" He asked, Nancy laughing in a wet way that let Henry know that his question was way more loaded than he had expected.

"My mom, and she called the police, but… They don't care. They think she ran away, but I know she didn't. Barb wouldn't _do _that."

"Even if she did she wouldn't leave her car," Henry offered, Nancy looking up at him with wide eyes, almost as if she hadn't expected for him to agree with her.

"Yes! Exactly!" Nancy said, almost sounding excited as she reached down into the bag she'd brought, "And-and I know how what I saw in the woods sounds crazy. But, just look at this."

She laid a reassembled picture out on the table that Henry immediately recognized even though he'd never seen it before. It was of a house Henry had only ever been to once—a party he'd left after thirty-five minutes—but that wasn't what caught his attention. All he saw was the lone person sitting on the diving board, wearing that morose expression that Henry recognized as Barb's heartbreak.

"This was one of Jonathan Byers's pictures, right?" Henry chose to say, his voice a little quieter than before.

"Yeah," Nancy confirmed, "But, look right here."

Nancy's finger pulled Henry's eyes away from the image of his friend _(last known picture _his mind supplied unhelpfully) and to the blurry mass in the corner. He squinted, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, before what Nancy had said came back to him.

_A man without a face. _

"Nancy…" Henry said slowly, his frown deepening as he took in the eerie moment that Jonathan had unknowingly captured.

"It's not great, I know," she said, defending herself against imaginary criticism, "But, if we go to Jonathan, maybe he can make it clearer? Or at least make one that isn't torn? I don't know, but… But, this is the only proof I have."

"You want to go find Jonathan Byers and have him develop another picture that he took of you and your friends from the woods, so that you can prove that a man without a face did something to Barb," Henry said simply, Nancy's cheeks pinking at that description. She dropped her eyes to the ground and cleared her throat before she replied.

"Yeah."

Henry nodded slightly before standing, Nancy sighing in frustration when he did. Although, he had no idea if it was at him or at herself. But, he didn't comment on that, just smiled ruefully.

"Let me get my keys."

.

"Do you mind?"

Nancy frowned, wondering if having the window rolled down was bothering Henry, before she looked over to see what he was shaking out of the familiar cardboard carton.

"Go ahead," she replied, Henry forcing a smile in response before he stuck the cigarette in between his teeth. He patted his pockets before frowning.

"Hey, is there a lighter in the glove box?" He asked, Nancy opening it and digging underneath the official papers to find a red plastic one, which she handed over to him, "Thanks."

It was quiet for a moment as Henry lit his cigarette and took a puff, Nancy doing her best not to stare as he blew the smoke out the window.

"I didn't realize you smoked," she said finally, Henry shrugging.

"Only when I'm stressed."

"Well, with the way this week has been, maybe I should start too," Nancy replied, only partially joking.

"Wouldn't recommend it," Henry said, shrugging, "It's a bad habit. I used to smoke all the time, but I've been trying to quit. Now it's only sometimes. When things get… a little overwhelming."

"I think we're past a 'little overwhelming,'" Nancy replied, smiling when Henry did, despite the circumstances. It was hard _not _to smile.

"You said your mom called the police, but that they didn't care," he said after a moment, the small smile on Nancy's lips slipping away, "What did you mean? Did Hopper just tell her to stop worrying and hang up?"

"It wasn't Hopper, it was two other officers," Nancy said, sighing as she remembered the questioning at her school, "And, they didn't even care about Barb. They just asked me what I was doing at Steve's that late and they kept giving each other these _looks _and _laughing _like it was some funny joke."

It was quiet for a moment as Nancy stewed in that memory; her cheeks burning as she remembered the looks on those two officers' faces as they made her admit in front of her _mother _that she'd been upstairs with Steve that night. It had been _humiliating. _

"Fucking pigs."

Nancy's head snapped over in surprise. Of all the things she'd expected to fall from Henry's lips, she'd never in a million years guessed _that. _He seemed a little surprise by his words too, or maybe he was just uncertain because he didn't know how she was going to react to that. He sent her a sideways glance and took another puff from his cigarette; Nancy realizing that maybe she was getting a clearer look at Henry than most people did.

"Yeah," Nancy finally said, smiling slightly, "Fucking pigs."

The trepidation on Henry's face melted away and was replaced by a wide smile. The kind that said _"I can't believe what just happened but I'm happy about it." _all while being just as sunny as ever. Nancy's own grew in response and she couldn't help but understand just what Barb had seen in this guy.

.

"This feels weird."

Nancy turned to see that at some point, Henry had stopped and wasn't walking with her anymore. She stopped too, but before she said anything, she followed his eyes to the sign that hung over the somber building they were entering.

_Cunningham Funeral Home. _

Nancy sighed before she looked over at her companion again. Henry's expression was miles away from the smile he'd worn in the car, and instead there was only unease and discomfort. She'd never seen that type of look on his face before, not even before a final, and in turn, her own mood sank. It was never that high to begin with, though.

"I just feel like we shouldn't be bothering him. Not right now," Henry said, finally pulling his eyes away to meet Nancy's, "His brother…"

Nancy nodded in understanding, mulling over her words before she spoke.

"If it was the other way around, if Will was the one missing and Barb was—." Her voice gave out, but she pushed through, "And you might have something that would help Jonathan find Will, what would you want?"

Henry shut his eyes and breathed hard through his nose, and the seconds ticked by with an immeasurable silence. For a brief moment Nancy wondered if she'd finally lost him. If men without faces or grainy pictures hadn't been Henry's breaking point, but instead just the thought of the pain Jonathan was feeling right now had pushed him over the edge.

"If there was even a chance of someone being found, I would want him to come ask me," Henry said, catching Nancy by surprise. But, before she could respond, he opened his eyes to send her a wry look, "You do realize we're banking on the guy who took pictures of strangers from the woods to be as good people as we are, right?"

"It's worth a shot. He might surprise us," Nancy replied before her lips pulled into something just as wry as Henry's expression, "Might."

Henry snorted slightly and nodded; Nancy feeling something inside of her release as he finally moved. He walked right past her and held the door open. He didn't have to say a word to let her know where he had landed.

Nancy found herself second guessing that the moment they stepped inside.

As they stepped into the stuffy and eerily quiet funeral home, the two teens exchanged a look. Both silently asked the other if they were going to run right back out and wait to ambush Jonathan when he was done in here. But, both came to the same conclusion, and both continued to walk deeper into the building; following the faint sound of voices.

Nancy headed towards and open door before coming to a sudden stop, Henry a few steps behind and entering the doorway a second later. Just in time to see the way shock flitted across Jonathan's face, enough that it displaced the grief on his features, if only for a moment.

Jonathan closed the distance between himself and the two teens and when he finally stopped, he looked at both of them with an apprehensive expression. Almost as if he expected them to do something to hurt him. Which, on one hand, was sad to think about. But, on the other, Henry did realize how weird it must seem to have _Nancy Wheeler _show up at the funeral home with _Henry Sinclair _of all people. Who would know what to expect.

"Can we talk to you for a second?" Henry asked, as smooth as he could be given the circumstances, and Jonathan nodded.

"The cops think she ran away. But they don't know Barb…"

Henry swallowed around the lump in his throat. Hearing the story for the second time hurt more for some reason. His brain could hardly comprehend it the first time around, but now… Now all he could think about was all the things that could've happened to his best friend.

"I went back to Steve's, and I thought I saw something," Nancy continued, her words coming slower now, "Some weird man or… I don't know what it was."

It was quiet for a second, before Nancy looked up and made eye contact with Jonathan and the realization that had hit Henry outside came crashing down on her.

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching for her bag and pushing herself off of the bench, "I shouldn't have come here today. I'm..."

Nancy began to shuffle away, but Henry made no move to follow. Instead, he turned his eyes away from her and to Jonathan, who hadn't moved from his spot on the bench either. He met his eyes without hesitation, a stark contrast from the last time they'd spoken, and Henry realized that the look in his eyes wasn't disbelief, or anger, or even grief. It was something _odd, _something that had Henry speaking even though Nancy was trying to make an exit.

"Nancy saw a man—."

"—Without a face."

Jonathan's words caused Henry to stiffen and Nancy to whirl around to face him. It was quiet, a different kind than before. It was the kind of quiet that happens when people come to the sudden realization that they're all thinking the same thing.

And that thing was that something was very, _very _wrong.

.

"I can show you how to tie a tie."

Jonathan shot a look over at Henry, who kept his eyes on the ground and his expression neutral, but neither one slowed their movements. They just kept walking, getting further and further away from the group of people huddled around the grave.

"What makes you think I can't?" Jonathan finally asked, sounding defensive even though he clearly was trying to keep his tone even.

Henry didn't reply, he just made sure he had Jonathan's attention before looking over his shoulder at the man shaking the hands of every funeral attendee, and then looked at Jonathan significantly. Jonathan dropped his gaze down at his shoes with a bitter expression, and it was quiet for a moment.

"Has anyone ever told you that your dad is a jackass?"

That caught Jonathan's attention, and he looked up sharply to find Henry with a casual nonchalance on his face.

"Well… I used to be able to hear my mom scream that at him through the walls," Jonathan replied, matching Henry's bluntness with his own, "But, no. No one's said it to my face."

"Your dad's a jackass."

Jonathan snorted, and although he didn't turn his head, Henry glanced out of the corner of his eyes in time to catch the small smile pulling at his lips. They reached a small spot far enough away from the funeral that they wouldn't be noticed, and they both sat down on the grass with their backs to some fenced off graves to wait for the third member of their little group.

After a moment, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of Camels; not mentioning them until he caught the way Jonathan watched him place a cigarette between his teeth.

"Want one?" He offered, Jonathan dropping his eyes and shaking his head.

"Just…" he muttered before smiling slightly, "That's the same brand my mom smokes."

"You're not trying to insult me are you?" Henry asked, his lips quirking up slightly at the ends, "Because I'm _proud _to be addicted to the same cancer sticks as your mom."

That coaxed a genuine laugh out of Jonathan, but it stopped suddenly. As if he was a record and someone had lifted the needle. Henry looked over to see a funny look on Jonathan's face, and it took a moment for him to realize what had stopped him.

_Guilt._

Henry glanced back at the mass of people, which was mostly dispersing now. But, some still shook hands with Lonnie and ignored Joyce, and he felt a brief flash of guilt in his own chest. But, he pushed it away, and instead said what needed to be said.

"We're going to find him. Both of them."

"You really think that?" Jonathan said softly, Henry looking him dead in the eye.

"Yeah," he replied, not stumbling for even a second, "I really do."

Jonathan met his gaze for a moment longer, clearly looking for any sign that he was lying. When he didn't find it, he dropped his eyes back to the grass. It was quiet, this time long enough for Henry to finish his cigarette, before a new voice broke the silence.

"Hey."

Nancy sat down on the other side of Jonathan, and the three teenagers sent each other their best imitations of smiles before they got into it. Henry stubbed out his cigarette on the concrete base of the fence as Jonathan reached into his pocket and retrieved a small map.

"This is where we know for sure it's been, right?" He said, Henry and Nancy leaning over his shoulders to look.

"So, that's…?" Nancy pointed at one of Jonathan's Xs.

"Steve's house. And that's the woods where they found Will's bike and that's my house."

"It's all so close," Nancy observed.

"Exactly. I mean, it's all within a mile or something," Jonathan replied, Henry humming softly.

"Then it's like most animals," he said, not looking up from the map, "It doesn't stray far from its nest… Which would make it easy to find."

Jonathan locked eyes with Henry and wordlessly communicated what he was thinking. What they both were. Nancy sighed softly before she put words to what was in all of their minds.

"You two want to go out there."

"A mile radius is still pretty big," Henry offered, hoping to smooth over whatever anxieties Nancy had with a lie.

"I still found it," she countered, looking between the both of them, "If we do, then what?"

Jonathan and Henry made eye contact once again, and they both knew exactly what the other one was thinking. The answer to Nancy's question.

"We kill it."

.

The only sound that filled the Sinclair living room was the _Match Game-Hollywood Squares Hour. _Erica was really the only one paying attention to the show, and was watching it with an amount of rapture that only came after a long day of being bored. Mr. Sinclair sat in the armchair with the paper, and Mrs. Sinclair sat on the couch, folding laundry. It was a mindless task though, and that was why she was able to send looks up towards the stairs, where she could just see the shut door of her youngest son's room.

"Do you think he's okay?" She asked the room at large, but when she didn't get a response, she honed in on her son on the other end of the couch, "I mean, he was always close with him."

"I don't know," Henry answered honestly. Yeah, Lucas was close with Will, and after the other night, he would've thought he'd be pretty torn up. But, at the same time, he hadn't seen all that upset this morning. In fact, it had almost felt like he'd been _faking_ any grief he displayed, and Henry just didn't know what to make of that one.

"I'd just feel better if he wasn't locked up in his room," Judith continued, and Henry hummed in agreement as he turned his eyes back to the TV. But, the program was ending, and he knew what that meant.

It was four o'clock.

It was time to go.

He'd put it off long enough.

"I'm going to head out in a minute. I probably won't be back for a while," he said, hopping off the couch and rounding up the stairs. He didn't make it fast enough though, and his mother's concerned voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?" She asked. Henry leaned against the railing and considered lying for a brief moment. But, he quickly realized he didn't even have a lie to tell, so he just went with the truth.

"I'm going to hang out with Nancy."

"Nancy Wheeler?" Mr. Sinclair interjected, revealing he actually was listening to what was being said around him. Henry sighed inaudibly as his father put down his paper and the three people sitting in the living room levelled Henry with their curious gazes.

"Yep," he said.

"Well, she's a nice girl," Judith offered, and this time Henry's sigh was much more pronounced as he simply turned and started hopping up the remaining stairs. He knew that once he was out of sight, his parents would exchange looks, and Erica would probably make some comment, but honestly he didn't even care. That used to bother him like nothing else, but after everything that had happened… He just didn't care.

Instead, he cared very deeply about the room at the end of the hallway.

He shouldn't be doing this.

Henry slipped past the partially closed door, and shut it ever so slightly behind him. Not entirely, that would tip off anyone that came upstairs, but just enough so that no one in the hallway would be able to see the large safe in the corner of the room. The safe that Henry walked up to, trying to tread lightly across the squeaky floorboards, and hesitantly turned the dial.

The first time he chalked it up to nerves.

The second he assumed he'd just messed it up.

The third time was when he began to wonder if maybe he wasn't going to be able to get this stupid thing open.

When the fourth time failed, Henry cursed under his breath, and might've missed the small sound that came from behind him if it weren't for the unsettling silence in his parents' bedroom.

"Um."

Henry whipped around to see the door wide open, and Lucas watching him with an expression that screamed _"I know I shouldn't be seeing this right now_._"_ It was quiet for a moment, the two brothers just looking at each other, before Lucas finally cleared his throat and spoke.

"Erica figured it out so Dad changed it. It's 40-14-18-32 now."

Without a word, Henry turned back to the safe and pulled the door open after one try.

Uncomfortably aware of the way Lucas's eyes followed him, Henry reached into the top compartment of the safe and retrieved what he knew for a fact was there. His father had told him as much when Henry had tried to crack the code when he was eight.

And all Henry could think about while he felt the heavy weight in his hand was how his father had told him to never, _ever _touch his gun.

He glanced sideways at Lucas, whose eyes were as big as plates, and he it shoved into the back of his waistband. He'd like to think out of sight, out of mind, but the presence of their dad's gun had created a thick, nearly unbreakable tension. Henry reached back into the safe to retrieve the box of ammunition as well, but it wasn't until that was in his jacket pocket that either of them said anything.

"Mom said you were going to the Wheelers," Lucas murmured, his voice much smaller than before.

"Yeah," Henry replied, steeling himself for the questions.

"Can I come?" He asked, Henry unable to conceal the surprise, "Mike and Dustin are there."

"Yeah," Henry said, before shaking his head slightly, trying to get rid of the expression that he knew was making Lucas nervous. Then he smiled and spoke again, "Yeah, of course, Bud."

"Thanks," Lucas said, managing a small smile for Henry.

It was quiet for a moment, the two brothers just looking at each other, and they both came to the same conclusion. Henry led the way with Lucas close on his heels, and they were out of their parents' room and down the stairs in no time. They yelled their goodbyes in voices so normal it was almost remarkable, and they were out the door in less than two minutes. All very impressive when you consider the fact that both of their minds were focused on one, solitary thought:

_I will never tell anyone about this._

_._

"Hi, Mrs. Wheeler!"

Mrs. Wheeler glanced up from her _Cosmo _and sent a small smile towards the two boys. She was sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in one hand while Mr. Wheeler lounged in the La-Z-Boy, watching TV. Henry didn't say anything, just waved. The Wheelers had always made him a little uncomfortable.

"Hi, Lucas. The boys are in the basement," Mrs. Wheeler offered.

"Thanks," Lucas said, sending a glance back at Henry before heading off towards the stairs. Henry didn't mind. If anything had been needed to be said, they would've said it in the car.

"Um, Mrs. Wheeler?" Henry said, having to pull her attention away from her magazine again, "Is Nancy here?"

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but Henry didn't say anything about it, just kept on smiling.

"Um, yeah. I think she's out in the garage. The door should be open," she said, sounding a little bewildered. Henry smiled and thanked her before turning on his heel and heading back towards the front door. As he stepped back outside, he could hear Karen Wheeler hiss _"Now Henry Sinclair is picking Nancy up?" _and Ted Wheeler reply with a succinct _"Who?"_

Henry walked around the house and to the driveway, where he found that Mrs. Wheeler had been right; the door was open and Nancy was standing in there. The only thing that she'd neglected to mention was that Nancy wasn't alone.

Because, right next to her was that familiar hair.

Steve Harrington.

For a brief moment, Henry considered just turning back around and booking it to his car. But, they'd already seen him, and he knew that would look a million times more suspicious. So instead, he forced an easygoing smile and continued on his original path into the garage.

Nancy's nervous look did absolutely _nothing _to calm Henry, but he did everything he could to keep that from taking over his expression. The very last thing they needed was for Steve Harrington to know that his girlfriend was going into the woods with Henry Sinclair and Jonathan Byers.

"Hey," Henry started.

"Hey," Nancy replied.

"Hey," Steve finished.

It was silent for five agonizing seconds.

"Um, do you know Henry Sinclair?" Nancy asked, sounding almost desperate as she turned to Steve, who was practically frowning.

"Yeah," he said, not even trying to hide how he sized him up, "How do you two know each other?"

"He's friends with, um…" Nancy cleared her throat and exchanged a look with Henry, "Barb."

Steve's expression dropped immediately.

"Oh," he said simply.

"I was dropping off Lucas," Henry cut in, hoping to get rid of at least some of the smothering awkwardness, "And your mom said you were out here."

"Uh, yeah," Nancy said, really not giving Henry anything to work with here.

"And I was wondering if I could get that review paper?" Henry said, his voice leading on slightly as Nancy looked at him with blank eyes, "The one we talked about at the… you know…"

"The what?" Steve interjected, his voice teetering on the edge of obnoxious. Henry looked away from Nancy to find Steve wearing an expression that was probably meant to be intimidating but just looked kind of funny.

"The funeral…" Henry replied, and that wiped that expression off of Steve's face in a split second.

"Oh," he said simply, again.

Henry cleared his throat awkwardly before he focused back in on Nancy, who now understood the lie that he'd backed them into.

"Yeah, I'll go get it," she said, looking between the two teen boys before she set the baseball bat down against the car and ran inside. Henry wished he could've followed her.

It was quiet for a moment, before it was Steve's turn to clear his throat. He finally picked up the bat and started swinging it around while he walked aimlessly. It was all a little too forced to be the casual "cool guy" routine that Henry knew he was going for.

"So, um, how was that?" He asked, Henry's brow furrowing as he watched the bat flip in circles in Steve's hand.

"How was what?"

"The funeral," Steve said, "How'd—How'd it go? Was it good?"

"Was the funeral good?" Henry repeated slowly, and Steve looked over at him with wide eyes, although the bat still swung around.

"Oh, I meant like—I just—"

"Uh, man—?" Henry started, but it was too late.

The crash of the croquet set falling against the concrete echoed throughout the garage. Steve dropped the bat in shock after it had sent the mallets _loudly _tumbling to the ground, and he looked at the mess for a moment before his eyes snapped over to Henry with a very caught out look on his face.

"Uh," he managed.

He crouched down to start picking up the rack and the mallets; his movements so jerky and rushed that he could never get more than two away until they somehow managed to fall back down. What should've been a quick cleanup job slowly developed into a bigger mess. For a brief moment, Henry considered helping him, god knows he seemed to need it. But, he didn't make any move to, and instead watched as Steve set that _one _mallet back into the rack only for it to fall onto the ground for what must've been the third time.

Thoughts of the emotional past few days and the dangerous plan the three teens had concocted mingled together, and for the first time since this strange turn of events had started, Henry _laughed_.

Steve looked up from where he was still struggling with the croquet set with an affronted expression that he probably thought covered up his own amusement.

_"Laugh it up, Sinclair," _he said, only succeeding in making Henry laugh harder.

"I am!" He replied in between giggles, and Steve dropped his front; a small smile on his face as he return to the set. He finally managed to get it all back to where it belonged (albeit, significantly more crooked than it was before) and hopped up while a few errant chuckles slipped past Henry's lips.

Before either of them could say anything, Nancy reappeared with a piece of paper and a serious expression that quickly morphed into confusion.

"What happened?" She asked, Henry's cheeks starting to hurt from his smile.

"We're lucky Steve's on the basketball team," he replied, Nancy looking to Steve for an answer but only getting an eye roll in response.

"Well, uh, I have the review paper," Nancy said haltingly, still shooting looks between the two boys as she held out the paper for Henry to take.

"Oh, thanks," he said, having completely forgotten about the lie he'd concocted, "Alright. I, uh, guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Nancy agreed with a significant look, and Henry started to walk away from the house, although he felt a little reluctant about it. He reminded himself that he was going to come back around to pick Nancy up once Steve was gone, but that didn't make the feeling go away.

"See you around, Harrington," he offered, choosing not to dwell on it.

"Later, Sinclair," Steve replied, and almost set Henry off again. Not because what he said was particularly funny, but because of the "too cool for school" voice he'd adopted. As if that was going to make Henry forget the image of him scrambling to pick up a croquet set any time soon.

Henry pulled the door to his car open and sat down. He figured he'd drive around for a little bit and hope Nancy had gotten rid of Steve in ten minutes. But, instead of turning his key in the ignition and heading off like he knew he should, Henry leaned his head against the wheel and laughed.

He wouldn't realize until later, but that moment was the lightest he'd felt in days.


	5. no going back

"I still think we should've told someone. Mrs. Byers, at least."

Henry hummed thoughtfully as he turned down the last street of their drive. Nancy had been apologizing for Steve's presence in the garage for most of the trip, but when Henry told her to forget it, he really meant it. One, because it wasn't her fault—she hadn't know he was going to drop by—and two, because he really didn't think there was anything to apologize for. It had all worked out; when he'd swung back around, she'd been ready to go.

"Yeah, me too," Henry agreed, glancing away from the road to send Nancy a significant look, "But… It's his mom, you know? Not really our place."

"Yeah, I guess," Nancy replied softly, before she straightened in her seat slightly, like an idea had occurred to her, "Hey, when we were talking yesterday about Barb, you asked if my mom had talked to Hopper. Do you know him? Because maybe if you talk to him, he'll—."

The car suddenly jerked to the side of the road and came to a hard stop. For a split second Nancy wondered if they'd swerved to miss hitting something. But, Henry put it in park (with a little more vigor than the gear shift required), and slipped out of the car.

"I don't know Hopper," he said, his voice even, but unlike anything Nancy had ever heard from him before. Henry Sinclair was many things, but emotionless was not one of them.

After a moment of confusion, Nancy got out of the car as well and hurried after Henry since he was already heading out towards the clearing that Jonathan had told them about. It was a quiet walk, Nancy fiddling with the strap on her shoulder and sending sideways glances towards Henry, who didn't once look away from where they were heading. She'd upset him, she could feel it. She just didn't know what she'd done.

A loud boom cut through the silence, and both teens jumped; Nancy unthinkingly putting her hand on Henry's shoulder. For a moment it was apprehensively quiet, before another one echoed through the forest. But, instead of tensing up again, Henry released that fearful gasp he'd been holding and a small smile worked its way onto his lips.

"Something tells me Jonathan is that way," he said, pointing in the direction of the sound, and even though Nancy still wasn't entirely sure what they'd heard, she found herself relaxing too.

It wasn't until they made it to the field did she realize, and she watched with growing amusement as none of Jonathan's shots found their mark.

"You're supposed to hit the cans, right?" She called, maybe a little proud that comment got Henry to chuckle and coaxed a small smile from Jonathan.

"No, actually, you see the spaces in between the cans?" Jonathan said as they neared him, "I'm aiming for those."

"You're a regular sharpshooter," Henry replied, Jonathan huffing out a small laugh.

"Either of you shot a gun before?" He asked, Nancy sending him a look.

"Have you met my parents?" She asked, before her attention was drawn to what Henry pulled out of his waistband.

"A few times, with my dad. It's been a couple of years now, though," he offered, grabbing the box of ammo out of his pocket and beginning to load the gun with an ease similar to the one he had when he tinkered inside his car. It was all mechanics, in the end.

"Yeah, I haven't shot one since I was ten," Jonathan said, reloading his gun a lot less elegantly than Henry, "My dad took me hunting on my birthday. He made me kill a rabbit."

"A rabbit?" Nancy said as Henry sent a startled glance Jonathan's way. While he wouldn't put it past Lonnie Byers to make his son kill something, he couldn't imagine Jonathan _doing_ it. Not even now as a teenager, let alone as a child.

"Yeah," Jonathan said, the look on his face letting Henry know that he was spot on about his temperament, "I guess he thought it would make me into more of a man or something. I cried for a week."

"Jesus," Nancy whispered, Henry humming softly in agreement.

"What, I'm a fan of Thumper," Jonathan said, misreading their reactions and going on the defensive. Something that Henry had begun to suspect was an integral part of his personality.

"Your _dad_," Henry clarified, Jonathan sending him an incredulous look, "That's messed up."

"_Your_ dad didn't make you shoot anything?" He asked, and if it were anyone else, Henry's hackles would've gone up and he'd say something with an edge to it. But, it wasn't anyone else, it was Jonathan Byers. And instead of feeling defensive, he just felt… _sad. _

"We would go to a range, I just shot targets," Henry replied, his voice strong but his eyes dropping to the gun in his hand, "My dad was in Vietnam, he wouldn't… He doesn't want me to ever _have_ to shoot anything."

It was quiet for a moment and Henry returned to loading his father's gun. He should tell him—_something _sometime soon. Let him know that he appreciates him. That he's doing a good job.

It was easy to forget how good he had it with his parents. His dad would never make him shoot a rabbit, hell, Henry had had to _beg_ him to let him try at the range. Then his dad had _drilled_ gun safety into him, had made _sure _Henry wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else.

He'd let him shoot it because he wanted his son to be happy, but had taught him how because he knew it was his job to keep his son safe.

Yeah, he was a pretty good dad. Better than most. And the things he wasn't getting right, well… it's not like Henry was giving him much of a chance. He didn't know.

But, he never would.

"I guess my mom and dad loved each other at some point, but…" Jonathan said, calling Henry's attention back to the present, although he obviously wasn't the only one caught in thoughts about his home life, "I wasn't around for that part."

Nancy held her hand out and after a moment of surprise, Jonathan passed his gun to her.

"Uh, just point and shoot," he offered, Henry snorting and leaning in until he was almost cheek-to-cheek with Nancy. Both of them were too focused on the positioning of the gun to notice how Jonathan looked between them and then dropped his eyes to his shoes.

"Hold it like this," Henry murmured, readjusting her hands ever so slightly, but without hesitation, "And look down the sight."

Henry took a step back and admired how Nancy had taken to aiming a gun immediately. He remembered his dad having to critique twenty different things before he'd been good to go. And sure, maybe he wasn't noticing anything wrong with Nancy because he hadn't shot one in ages, but she _looked _right.

"I don't think my parents ever loved each other," Nancy offered, still lining up the can.

"They must've married for some reason," Jonathan said and, without meaning to, set off those dark thoughts that plagued Henry at night.

He knew that wasn't this situation, he _knew _it, but his brain would take the smallest opening and send him spiraling.

"My mom was young. My dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac, and started their nuclear family," Nancy said, not knowing how she was causing Henry's throat to tighten with each word. How her description danced terribly close the fears that were always at the back of his mind.

"Screw that," Jonathan said.

"Yeah," Nancy replied, "Screw that."

She pulled the trigger, the can went flying off the stump, and something in Henry released. Maybe it was the loud sound that broke his stream of consciousness, or maybe it was hearing the soft bitterness in the other teens' voices, but his anxiety was suddenly gone. It was weird. Not even a cigarette got rid of it that quickly.

Rather than dwelling on that though, he clapped Nancy on the shoulder and smiled at her. She was proud of herself, and he didn't blame her; first try was impressive. But, there were still a few cans on stumps, and he supposed he should take a turn.

Although he was rusty, the lessons his dad taught him at the range had stuck with him. A few breathless moments passed, and his shot found its mark.

He lowered the gun with a satisfied smile, before he turned and saw how Jonathan and Nancy were both looking at him. His expression morphed into something lighter. Playful.

"Don't look at me, my parents love each other very much."

.

The three teens trekked through the woods without much of a destination in mind, just trying to stay within the mile radius that Jonathan had mapped out. Thankfully, Indiana weather hadn't drifted into cold territory yet, and all they needed were jackets. Henry didn't know if he'd be able to handle walking around like this if the temperature had dropped like it usually did in November.

Honestly, it was sort of nice. Like a nature hike. If it weren't for the guns and whatever it was they were hunting.

"You never said what I was saying," Nancy said, breaking the comfortable silence with words directed towards Jonathan, "Yesterday, you said I was saying something and that's why you took my picture."

"Oh, uh," Jonathan said awkwardly, "I don't know…"

A soft, but involuntary sigh left Henry's lips. He didn't think the other two heard it, but it had caught him by surprise. He wasn't entirely sure where it had come from.

"My guess…" Jonathan started, and Henry found himself wishing he just left it at the lie about not knowing, "I saw this girl, you know, trying to be someone else. But, for that moment… It was like you were alone, or you thought you were. And, you know, you could just be yourself."

He was suddenly reminded of when he tried to do homework but Lucas kept interrupting him to talk about a new comic or something. Lucas didn't mean any harm, but it still bothered him a little. Why it was happening right now, he didn't quite know.

"That is such bullshit."

Although he knew Jonathan's reaction to that was probably a little funny, Henry didn't get to see it because at some point his even pace had pulled him a few steps ahead of the other two. Probably around the time they slowed down to have this conversation.

There it was again, that feeling. It was a little hotter this time, at the bottom of his stomach.

"What?" Jonathan stammered, and Henry didn't need to turn around to know that they'd stopped in their tracks.

"I am not trying to be someone else," Nancy said, Henry slowing but not stopping. It was spreading now; the heat in his stomach had reached his chest, "Just because I'm dating Steve and you don't like him—."

"You know what? Forget it. I just thought it was a good picture," Jonathan snapped back, Henry able to hear the telltale crunch of leaves, although neither one caught up with him.

"He's actually a good guy," Nancy said, Henry's mind flashing to the croquet set and the feelings subsiding, although it was only for a moment, "The other day, with the camera… He's not like that at all. He was just being protective."

_"Do you blame him?" _Henry thought grimly, before he recognized they'd stopped again and the fire returned to taking him over. Slowly. Inch by inch.

"Yeah, that's one word for it," Jonathan muttered bitterly, and Henry rolled his eyes. He knew his camera was important to him and that the Byers weren't the most affluent, but _come on, man._

"Oh, I guess what you did was okay," Nancy replied, voicing Henry's internal monologue.

"No, I never said that," Jonathan said, sounding like he was back in his usual defensive stance. Although this time was probably for a better reason than imagined slights.

"He had every right to be pissed—."

"Okay, alright, does that mean I have to like him?" Once again, the two teens behind Henry had come to a stop. He would be making a lot of time on them right now, if it weren't for the leaden heat weighing him down; keeping him from moving much at all. A part of him idly wondered if they somehow managed to forget he was here.

"Listen, don't take it personally, okay? I don't like most people. He's in the vast majority," Jonathan hissed out, and Henry rolled his eyes again. Sure, sometimes Jonathan could be okay, nice even, but this version of him—the nihilistic douchebag—Henry didn't care for.

"You know, I was actually starting to think that you were okay," Nancy said, almost sounding a tiny bit hurt. Henry found himself rolling his eyes for the third time in thirty seconds.

"Yeah?" Jonathan challenged.

"Yeah. Yeah, I was thinking 'Jonathan Byers, maybe he's not the pretentious creep everyone says he is,'" Nancy said, but Henry barely heard her.

Because, there it was.

The heat had reached the base of his throat.

It wasn't stopping.

"Well, I was just starting to think _you_ were okay," Jonathan replied, not knowing how his words coaxed the fire in Henry higher and higher; right to the top, "I was thinking 'Nancy Wheeler, she's not just another suburban girl who thinks she's rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does. Until that phase passes and they marry some boring one-time jock who now works sales, and they live out a perfectly boring little life at the end of a cul-de—.'"

_"WOULD BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP?!"_

Jonathan and Nancy jumped, both startled, but Henry didn't care. It was too late for that. Maybe if they'd looked at him with those alarmed doe eyes earlier, it would've abated. But, it was out now, and there was no putting it back in.

_"God!" _He exclaimed, looking between the two of them with frustration and accusation and _anger. _Nothing outweighed the _anger, _"Are you two really having this stupid, petty argument?! _Right_ _now?!_ Because, you know, _personally,_ I'm more worried about finding the missing kid and my best friend!"

Nancy and Jonathan both looked like they'd been slapped, but Henry still couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't remember the last time he'd yelled like that, he wasn't sure he ever really _had. _Maybe in private, maybe as catharsis when no one else could hear, but not _at _someone. He wasn't the type, and he'd never really had a reason to—at least a reason that he could act on. But, he'd done it now, and there was no undoing it. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to.

Henry swung around and turned his back on the other two, fully intending to continue walking, before he heard Nancy scoff behind him.

"So, _that's _how you refer to her?" She said, the accusation in her voice making Henry's jaw clench, "Interesting. I'll keep that in mind. Don't know why I'm surprised, since you wouldn't go to Steve's with her."

Henry turned to face her with a harsh glare, one he'd never levelled on Nancy before. Again, maybe not on anyone. He never let his emotions be this visible, but now that he'd started, he couldn't stop.

To Nancy's credit, she only hesitated for a second before she returned it with her own.

"She didn't want me there," Henry said, Nancy scoffing again.

_"Bullshit," _she spat, "Barb _really _likes you, okay? And she's my best friend, so I'm not going to let you string her along or _whatever_ it is you're doing."

A tight and bitter laugh rang through the forest, one that was so full of acid that Jonathan winced.

"_Typical_!" Henry announced, with a mockery of a smile on his face, "Typical, typical, _typical! _Such typical—."

He caught the words right before they escaped.

Immediately, even his sneer slipped away and all that was left was a stone cold glare. He turned around and started walking again; angry at himself for almost letting that out, and angry at Nancy for pushing him to that point.

That had been close, _way too close. _

"Oh, okay, sure, shut down and storm off like every other time you get upset," Nancy yelled at his back, "Which can be at any little thing apparently! Hell, bring up Hopper watch you stomp away!"

Henry came to a sudden stop and swallowed hard. It wasn't Nancy's harsh words that had frozen him, though. It was what followed: Jonathan's soft, but appalled _"Nancy."_

He shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't. But, after the way Nancy had spoken about him earlier, he'd hoped that maybe both of them didn't know. That maybe he would get lucky.

He hadn't.

Henry turned to see Nancy's confusion, and how Jonathan said nothing to clear it up. Instead, he just looked at Henry cautiously, like he wasn't sure how he was going to respond. Like he was nervous that he'd turn the fire he'd focused on Nancy onto him. What he got instead though, was a shrug.

"Don't let me stop you, Jonathan," Henry said, fake flippancy not even beginning to cover the bitterness in his voice, "It never stopped anyone else in Hawkins from talking."

Jonathan looked at him warily for one more second, maybe trying to gauge if he was setting him up for a trap, before he turned to Nancy. He didn't stop glancing at Henry as he spoke, though; treading very lightly.

"Hopper was the one who pulled Henry out of the Quarry."

"What?" Nancy said, more lost than ever as she looked between Henry and Jonathan.

"Yeah, I was, uh, _really lucky _he happened to be there," Henry said, sounding like he didn't think he was lucky at all, "Even did CPR for the twenty minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive. My mom makes him a pie every Christmas. She used to make me take it to him, but now she just does it herself."

"I don't understand…" Nancy said softly, all of the fire in her voice gone.

"Yeah, well, you don't have to," Henry snapped, but it was hard to keep it up now. That moment had passed, and there was only what was left. He felt tired, like he'd just ran a marathon or something. Finally, Henry sighed.

"Can we just… Can we just go find this thing? Please?" He asked, and after a moment, Jonathan and Nancy both nodded. They were still for a few seconds longer before they started to walk again.

This time, the silence wasn't so comfortable.

.

They hadn't recovered from that, not even once the sun had gone down. They just continued to hike through the dark woods in silence. They stuck close together though, but that was just because all of them were nervous. About getting split up, and about what they'd come here for.

Henry kept running his nail back and forth over a ridge on his flashlight. It was the best he could do for a nervous tic right now; it wasn't a great time to pull out a cigarette.

After hours of walking, Nancy stopped and brought both boys' attentions to her

"What, are you tired?" Jonathan's taut tone revealing that he had not gotten over what Nancy had said earlier. Henry was closer to her though, and from one look at her expression he could tell that this was a lot more than fatigue.

"What is it?" He asked, Nancy glancing at him before looking off into the darkness.

"I heard something."

Nancy sent them a nervous look before heading towards it, with Jonathan and Henry following soon after.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it wasn't what they were looking for. It was a deer. Henry felt his stomach drop as he realized what they'd heard was its pained whimpers, and he took in its bloody body with increasing nausea. God, how could anyone go out of their way to kill these things?

"It's been hit by a car," Nancy said, her voice a reflection of the feelings coursing through Henry, "We can't just leave it."

Nancy looked down at the gun in her hand, raising it slightly despite the tears in her eyes, but before she could even truly aim it, Jonathan held his hand out.

"I'll do it," he said, and his jaw clenched at the looks he got in response, "I'm not nine anymore."

And while that hinted at a whole boatload of issues, Henry was mostly just happy this didn't fall to him.

The three of them stood up—looking down at the suffering animal with heartbroken eyes—and Jonathan pointed the gun at the deer. A moment passed, and then two, and even though he'd just celebrated not having to be the one to do it, Henry heard himself saying _"Jonathan, I can—."_

"No," Jonathan cut him off, his voice shaky, "I can do this."

Jonathan took a deep breath, the kind you take right before you do something you really don't want to, and Henry anticipated the sound of the shot. Only, it never came. Because the deer was _gone._

The three of them stumbled back, none of them comprehending what had just happened. It took a moment for any of them to start moving again, and then they only crept forward slightly; staying close to each other as they followed the blood smears on the leaves.

"Do you guys see any more?" Henry asked, taking the silence as a no.

"Henry?" Nancy said softly, pulling his attention away from a funny shaped stick that had startled him and to where her flashlight shined, "What… What is that?"

Henry frowned, looking at a hole in a tree trunk, filled with somethings stringy and _wet. _

"I don't know," he replied, moving forward a little, but not too much. Something told him not to get too close to this thing. He turned to get Jonathan's opinion, but he wasn't there. He must've wandered off in some other direction.

Nancy and Henry kneeled down to try to get a better look so they could figure out just what they were looking at.

Blood.

There was blood on the bottom in there, just like there'd been blood on the leaves out here. Which meant that the deer…

"It can't be…?" Henry started, looking over to share a baffled look with Nancy. Was it _in _the tree? Was that a type of predator or something? One that stuffs its meals in trees?

"Jonathan?!" Nancy called out, but when no reply came, she turned back to the gash. For a moment, both of them just looked at it, before the sound of something hitting the ground cut through the silence.

She had dropped her bag.

"Nancy…" Henry started, but it was too late, she was crawling forward into the hole, _"Nancy!"_

She didn't listen to him and kept going, much farther than she should've been able to. The tree was big, but not _that _big.

For a moment, Henry was still. He didn't want to. He _really _didn't want to.

He swore and followed her.

Being inside of this thing was a million times grosser than looking at it, and that had been pretty bad. He pushed through the dripping strings of god knows what until he ended up on the other side of the tree.

Or at least, what _should've _been the other side of the tree. But, it couldn't be.

With the exception of Nancy, this place was _all wrong. _

It was hazy, and the air was heavy and thick with something that made it hurt when he breathed. Some particles floated around them, almost like snow, but they seemed suspended in place. Like they were caught in whatever gas or smoke that surrounded them. And the trees—which had been a little intimidating at night, but lovely the rest of the time—were now knotted monstrosities looming over them.

"What…?" Nancy started, not even able to finish her question. Henry didn't know what to say either. What _happened?_

Henry stepped forward, even though he kind of wanted to crawl right back through that hole. This felt wrong. It felt like they shouldn't be here.

But, he didn't say that, and just followed Nancy. No matter how bad this place made him feel, no matter how his flashlight flickered, he couldn't just leave without her. If he could power through this, he could probably push himself through anything. It couldn't get much worse.

And yet it did.

Because Nancy turned her flashlight and there it was.

She didn't need to tell him what it was, because Henry realized immediately. There was no other option. It was what Nancy had seen in the woods behind Steve's house, what Mrs. Byers had seen in her house.

And it was eating the deer.

They both froze when they saw it, but they also knew instinctively that they needed to leave _now. _After a moment of shocked horror, they began to walk backwards, not taking their eyes off of the thing tearing into the deer with a disgusting fervor. Slowly, slowly they moved away. But, it wouldn't matter, because Nancy's shoe would still find that twig, and that snap would still alert the creature that they were there.

What had been called a "man with no face" twisted towards them, and Henry was suddenly struck by the fact that it had _far too much face_.

He screamed, Henry would admit it, but so did Nancy before they both took off.

For a moment, all they did was run, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and that thing. Henry didn't know what it would do if it caught them, but he had to imagine they'd end up similar to that deer.

That thought alone caused his breath to shorten, which was bad when you were running. Before he could collapse though, they heard a familiar voice, sounding close but _strange_.

_"Nancy?!" _Jonathan's voice echoed, _"Henry?!"_

"Jonathan!" Henry called, hoping to catch sight of him even though he knew he wouldn't be much more help against this thing.

"Where are you?!" Nancy yelled.

"I'm right here!" They heard in response, but no matter where they turned, they didn't see him.

"Jonathan!" Nancy cried out again, but Henry didn't echo it, because in his search for Jonathan, he had found something else.

"Nancy," he said, catching her attention before he pointed out the familiar gash in a tree. He didn't understand what they'd done, or where they were, but maybe if that's how they'd _gotten _here…

Clearly, Nancy agreed, because she dashed towards it with Henry on her heels. She got down on her knees before sending a nervous look back towards Henry, which he appreciated the sentiment of—he didn't want to be alone here either, not even for a second—but disliked how it wasted time.

"_Go_," he insisted, Nancy nodding slightly before she crawled forward and out of sight. Henry followed soon after, but it quickly became clear that either this was a different tree, or something had changed.

It was _hard _this time, those disgusting strings were getting in the way, there was a film of some weird substance that didn't give easily, and the space felt smaller. It was like the tree was re-growing or something. But, that didn't make any sense. Then again, _none _of this did.

Henry continued forward, knowing he must be getting close, but when he struck a hand out towards what he assumed to be the other side, a sheet of thick goo didn't give. It stayed taut and unbroken, no matter how he pushed. He was right there_, _he could feel it, but he couldn't get through. And, was it just the claustrophobia, or was it getting _smaller _in here?

Oh, god. He was stuck.

This thing was going to close up around him and he was going to suffocate inside of a _tree. _Or, worse, he was going to get spit back out on the other side, and he'd be stuck in that awful place with that _thing. _

Oh, god. He was going to die.

Henry pushed as hard as he could, but it just wouldn't give. He was so, _so _close to being through it. His fingers were nearly pushing it to its breaking point, but he couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough. _He couldn't do it._

Something wrapped tightly around his hand through the film and _pulled. _

He wasn't strong enough to do it.

_Not alone. _

He was through, and it didn't hurt to breathe, and the trees looked nice, and there was nothing floating in the air around him. But, most important of all, there were Jonathan and Nancy, with their hands still around his; looking like they'd been just as scared as he'd been.

Nancy surged forward with Jonathan following only a second later, and Henry found himself in an embrace so tight it hurt. He didn't care. He returned it just as hard.

None of them said anything; they just regained their breath and reassured themselves that they were here.

They were safe.

At least, for now.

.

The hot water beating down on him should've relaxed his muscles, but he suspected that there was nothing on the planet that could do that right now.

He'd been hesitant to get into the Wheeler's shower; he really didn't want anyone other than Nancy to know he was here. But, he had to wash himself and he wasn't going home tonight. After being in that _place—_he reached forward and turned up the water temperature to something uncomfortable— he couldn't be alone.

He tried to push those thoughts away, the images of that _thing _tearing into the deer, but they kept forcing their way back. Eyes open or closed, it was all he could see.

Once he had scrubbed himself to the point of discomfort, Henry turned off the shower and stepped out. Ted Wheeler was a smaller man than him, both in height and build, but he much preferred wearing snug pajamas to what he'd had on earlier. He might burn those.

He slipped out of the bathroom and managed to make it back to Nancy's room without getting caught; sighing in the slightest amount of relief when he shut and locked her door behind him.

"You good?" Jonathan asked, Henry shrugging slightly. He didn't think he could really lie about that right now, "You can have this sleeping bag, I'll just—."

"Can you two just come over here, please?" Nancy cut in, the desperation in her voice so similar to what Henry felt right now. He understood, he might've even suggested it.

Getting into Nancy Wheeler's bed wasn't exactly where Henry had expected his life to take him. But, right now, it made more sense than most of the things happening around him.

Neither of the boys got under the covers, Jonathan laid right on top of them while Henry was on the sheets because Nancy had that corner of the duvet tucked under chin. It was a tight squeeze; it would've been even if they'd all been shaped like Nancy. But, both boys were broad shouldered—even if Jonathan didn't seem like it from how often he slouched— and there was barely enough room for the three of them. They were all pressed against each other one way or another, and there was no readjusting without upsetting someone else. But even so, it almost wasn't weird. If it had just been Nancy and Henry, the two people who went _there, _it wouldn't have been. But, Jonathan was uncomfortable and it was coming off of him in waves.

"Do you want the lights off or—."

"On," Nancy and Henry replied at the exact same time. Jonathan softly agreed and it was quiet.

It was quiet for a very long time.

Henry knew because he didn't fall asleep. He couldn't. Hours passed and he stared at Nancy Wheeler's ceiling, unable to shake what had happened tonight.

He'd almost died.

He knew it, he just _did. _If he and Nancy hadn't been fast enough, or if that tree had closed up a little sooner, then that thing would've killed him. Or worse, he would've been stuck in that place, running for his life.

Henry had spent a lot of time thinking about what Hell was like. Getting himself ready. But, nothing could've prepared him for that place.

And that's where Barb and Will were.

He felt like throwing up. Thinking about his best friend and the sweet kid that cried at _The Return of the Jedi _in that place made his stomach twist into knots. They must be so scared… Or, they were until that thing—.

Henry might actually be sick.

They could be dead. They could've died there. _He_ could've died there. He still could. Who knows, maybe that thing will come into this room tonight and drag him out of bed, back to that terrible place, and he would die scared. He'd die alone. He'd die—.

He'd die with only Lucas to remember him.

The _real _him.

"Nancy?" Henry's voice broke, even though it was quiet, but he didn't care. He needed to talk to her. The pressure coming from inside was too much, and he felt like he would shatter into a million pieces if he didn't let it out.

"Yeah?" Nancy said, confirming his suspicions that she couldn't sleep either. He would've been surprised if she'd managed to after tonight.

"Is Jonathan awake?" He asked, hearing Nancy turn slightly to check.

"I don't think so," she whispered, softer now.

"I need to tell you something," Henry said, his voice coming out more desperate than he wanted. But, he couldn't stop himself; this had to happen, one way or another.

"Okay?" Nancy said, accepting of whatever it was. Henry could feel heat start to build behind his eyes.

"You know how earlier, you said you wouldn't let me 'string Barb along' or something?" He asked, Nancy sighing.

"Henry, I—."

"No, no, just. Let me finish," He cut off her apology and took a deep breath, trying to bring himself back under control. It didn't work, "It wasn't like that between us. It never was. It never _could _be. We both knew that."

"Okay?" She said, sounding more confused now, but open. Like she was willing to listen to whatever it was he had to say.

God, Henry was going to cry.

"Nancy…" he said softly, the words stuck in his throat. He sniffed a little too loud.

"Henry," Nancy turned over, concern in her voice and likely on her face if he could bring himself to look at her. Instead, he focused on the words he couldn't say, the ones that were right there but just wouldn't come. The fear that gripped him whenever he even _thought _about telling someone had him in a chokehold now, but he was certain he would break if he didn't get this out.

Then, there was Nancy's voice, so soft, and so kind, it _hurt, _"Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I'm gay."

A rush of words, said so quickly that they couldn't quite sink in right away. But, they were said. They were out, and the ungodly pressure inside of him lessened. It wasn't completely gone, but it was manageable. All because he'd said two little words.

Henry couldn't remember the last time he'd admitted it out loud.

Maybe that was for good reason, because the room was silent. Just their breathing, nothing else.

He didn't know what reaction he'd been expecting from her, but a moment of shock made sense. He'd be pretty surprised too. In a town like Hawkins, being like him meant a lot more than liking boys. It meant acting a certain way, talking a certain way. Henry hadn't ever been those ways, some just because he wasn't, and others because he'd forced himself not to be. Nancy being shocked was a good sign honestly, it meant he was keeping it hidden.

He wondered if she'd kick him out.

Out of the bed, at the very least. It was almost ironic, that she'd probably prefer to share a bed with a guy who was interested in sex with her over a guy who'd never, under any circumstances, want to touch her like that. But, at the same time, he understood the logic. Nobody wants to share a bed with a dirty queer.

She might kick him out of the house. That wouldn't surprise him either. It would hurt, and since he'd left his car at the woods, he'd have to walk home, so he'd be terrified. But, he wouldn't be surprised.

He didn't think she'd tell anyone. Nancy didn't seem like the type. But, who knows, maybe he'd found a soft spot, and she'd tell everyone that Henry Sinclair was a... But, she'd have to explain why he told her, and why he was in her bed, so he doubted she would, even if she wanted to.

Nancy readjusted and Henry's breath caught in his throat. He didn't realize how scared he was until that moment, it was like having just a little of the damned weight gone had distracted him from the primal fear twisting in his gut.

But, in that moment, there was nothing to be scared of. She was just pulling as much of the duvet as she could out from under Jonathan's sleeping form. Miraculously, he didn't wake up, but Henry didn't have time to really process that, because Nancy was covering him with the blanket. The same one that she was under.

Henry frowned and blinked a few times, before he rolled over to face her. He suddenly wished the lights were off, because this was too much. He couldn't do eye contact right now; he couldn't look directly at that gentle expression. He couldn't handle that.

Henry looked down to the bedspread and rubbed his nose. After a moment of studying the floral sheets, he saw how Nancy raised her hand out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help it, even though he tried—he flinched. Just a little, he barely moved, but Nancy noticed and paused. It didn't stop her though. After a moment, she placed her hand on his face and gently rubbed circles on his cheek with her thumb.

Henry looked up and made eye contact again, and for a moment the two teens looked at each other. Neither one said anything, they didn't need to, and Henry found himself breaking the number one rule of how to keep people from finding out the truth. But, he supposed it didn't matter now. Nancy knew. She hadn't kicked him out for being gay. She wouldn't kick him out for crying in front of her.

Henry's body shook with the first of what would likely be many sobs, but that didn't stop him from noticing the sniffs coming from the girl next to him. Maybe it was sympathy, or maybe her own emotional overload, or both, but the result was the same. Nancy was crying too.

The hand on his cheek disappeared, but it was so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He should've hesitated, worried that it would be taken the wrong way or that she wouldn't want someone like him to touch her, but Henry found himself wrapping his arms around Nancy's waist and pulling her closer without even thinking about it. Nancy didn't mind, just buried her face in his shoulder, which Henry mirrored.

It was quiet except for the muffled sounds of their tears. There was no going back from this, from any of this, and maybe that was part of the reason they were crying. Because even if they found Barb and Will, there was no undoing what they'd seen, and what they'd gone through. Just like how there would be no undoing the pain Henry had experienced ever since the day he realized how he felt when he looked at boys.

But, there was no going back from this moment, either. Two teens that had barely known each other a week ago had just been through the impossible, and the _painful. _But, here they were. Henry had bared the part of him he'd kept hidden from everyone but his brother and the girl who was just like him, to someone he barely knew. He'd trusted her with his life in the woods, and now he was trusting her with the truth. The latter had been the bigger gamble. But, it had paid off, because instead of every terrible scenario Henry could imagine, Nancy had just pulled him close. There was no undoing that.

He was sobbing, but Henry felt much better than he had before.


	6. should i stay or should i go

Henry didn't remember falling asleep.

He didn't remember much of anything really. When he opened his eyes that morning, the first thing he really registered was _confusion_. Because this wasn't his bed, or his room, and the warmth against his body _certainly _wasn't coming from one of his siblings who crawled under the covers with him after a nightmare.

No matter how close he was with Erica and Lucas, they really weren't the type to cuddle.

After a few moments of racking his sleepy brain for answers, he finally managed to get himself to just look around, and the shot of adrenaline he got when he realized where he was woke him up better than any cup of coffee ever could.

Oh, _god_, had he hooked up with Nancy Wheeler last night?

If he was anyone else, that would make the most sense. It explained why he was in her room, why she was running her fingers over the back of his neck, and why he'd been sleeping with his head in her lap. And, even though it _was_ him, there was a split second where he wondered if he'd gotten _really _drunk and decided to see what all the fuss was about.

Fortunately, no matter how few hours his brain was running on, it was able to put that particular fear to rest. No, he had not slept with Nancy Wheeler last night. Well, _literally _he had, but he hadn't had sex with her. One, because that wasn't something he would ever do in his entire life, no matter how blasted he was. Two, he was starting to remember just how he ended up here.

_Unfortunately_.

It was all coming flooding back to him: the funeral, the target practice, the woods, that _place, _that _thing, _and—.

_Oh, god._

He'd told.

He'd _told._

"Oh, you're awake."

Nancy's soothing voice offered a great contrast to the whirlwind raging in Henry's mind, but did very little to calm it. Because no matter how gentle her voice was, or how nice feeling the weight of her hand on the back of his neck was, or how warm it was to lie against her, he'd _told. _He'd done the one thing he swore to never do. The one thing he knew could destroy his entire life.

But…

But, her voice _was _gentle, and her hand _was _resting on the back of his neck, and his head _was _cushioned on her lap.

He'd told, but he was still here.

Why was he still here?

Oh, yeah.

Now he remembered.

That explained it.

Explained Nancy's kindness and her physical affection. Explained his dehydration too.

That fear was slipping away now, the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and it was all being replaced with a strong feeling of discomfort. He honestly didn't know what to do now. He'd spilled his guts, she'd accepted it, they'd both cried.

He never thought he'd get this far.

Finally, he settled on sitting up. That seemed like a good first step. He stretched a little and readjusted on the bed for a moment before turning his attention back to Nancy.

It was quiet as Henry searched for something to say. _"Thanks for being cool with me being gay, and sharing your bed, and crying." _Yeah, no. For one, that was the most pathetic thing he'd ever even _thought _about saying. Also, it'd been hard enough to spit out those words at night after a traumatic event. The morning after, without his emotions riding so high… His stomach twisted in embarrassment when he thought back to what he'd said and how he'd acted. He didn't want to take it back, not exactly, he just wished he could change what happened a little. Change how he'd acted.

He was nowhere near having something to say and it had been quiet for way too long. Of course, he considered, he wasn't the only one in this not-conversation. Nancy could start. And just as suddenly as that thought occurred to him did he realize that she might be just as unsure as he was. He'd never come out to a girl he barely knew and then cried in bed with her all night, but he really doubted Nancy had ever had someone come out to her, let alone the whole crying and bed sharing thing.

Nancy was finally the one to move past it. But, not with words, just with a small smile. Henry didn't try to return it, because now that he was looking at her—_really _looking at her—he noticed just how tired she looked.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked, Nancy's attempt at a pleasant expression disappearing.

"Every time I shut my eyes I saw…" Nancy cut herself off and swallowed hard, and Henry reached out to take her hand in his. This time, he was the one to smile faintly, but it was enough. For now.

It was quiet between the two of them for a moment, but before either could break that silence, Henry was reminded that there was someone else in this bed when Jonathan's sleepy face lifted out of the pillow.

"What're you doing?" Jonathan said, his voice gritty with sleep, and Henry noticed for the first time that Nancy was holding a book in her other hand. Not a fun one she could be distracting herself with, though; a school book.

"Oh, I was…" She took a deep breath before steeling herself, "That place. I think—It was eating there, I think it _lives _there."

"They suit each other," Henry said, his voice coming out more bitter than he'd prefer.

"But… Will and Barb…" Nancy's voice came out small, and Henry felt his throat constrict at that. Their hands tightened around one another's without either consciously thinking about it.

"My mom said she talked to Will." Jonathan's voice cut through both of their anxieties, "If he's alive, there's a chance Barbara is too."

"That means they're trapped…" Nancy whispered, Henry removing his hand from hers to wrap it around her waist; he was finding it easier to be physically affectionate now. He wasn't going to dwell on which event had brought that about.

"We came back," Henry finally said, pulling Nancy's and Jonathan's attention to him, "Maybe they can too."

"You want to go out there again?" Jonathan asked incredulously, and Henry's eyes dropped to the bedspread. Because the answer was a big fat _no, _but… he couldn't bring himself to say that. He didn't even want to admit how utterly terrified he was just thinking about going to that place. He didn't want Nancy and Jonathan to _know_ that he was a coward.

"Maybe we don't have to," Nancy said softly, "When we saw it, it was eating a dear. Meaning it's a predator, right?"

"I mean, I guess?" Henry offered, unwilling to commit to _anything _when it came to this creature.

"And it seems to hunt at night like a lion or a coyote," Nancy continued, gesturing towards the book, "But, it doesn't hunt in packs like them. It's always alone, like a bear. And at Steve's, Barb cut herself. And then, last night, the deer was bleeding too."

"It can smell—or-or _sense _blood." Henry murmured, mulling over the pieces of the animal kingdom that came together to create this _thing, _"Like a shark."

"Theoretically," Nancy agreed softly.

"But, that means we could test it," Jonathan pointed out, the weight his words held not dawning on him until he said them. The three teenagers exchanged wide eyed looks, each of them wondering if the other two were actually considering this idea.

"We'll need to be ready," Nancy finally said, breaking the silence with a certainty Henry didn't feel. But, even so, he nodded just like Jonathan.

Nancy's doorknob rattled and broke the three of them out their thoughts; all of them jumping before they realized that the door was locked.

"Honey, are you up?" Mrs. Wheeler called from the hall.

"Yeah, I'm… I'm getting dressed," Nancy replied, her voice breathless from the surprise,

"I, uh," Mrs. Wheeler hesitated, like she truly didn't know how to speak to her, "Made some blueberry pancakes."

"I'll be down in a second."

They listened as Mrs. Wheeler's steps faded and Henry watched as Jonathan and Nancy pulled their hands apart, but didn't comment on it.

"Your mom doesn't knock?" Jonathan finally said, with a tinge of amusement that rarely made an appearance. Henry's lips curled upwards, even though it really wasn't that funny, and Nancy chuckled too. Maybe it wasn't really about what he'd said, maybe they all just needed a reason to smile.

.

"I need to go home."

Nancy and Jonathan looked over at him with horrified surprise on their faces. He only realized after the fact how those words must sound.

"For like, half an hour," he added, watching as both of their shoulders dropped and they breathed a sigh of relief, "I need to change. And… my parents, I…" It was Henry's turn to sigh, only this time it wasn't relief that fueled it, "Also, I need to go get my car."

"I'll get it."

Henry and Nancy looked over, becoming the two unable to hide their surprise, and Jonathan just shrugged as he pulled on his jacket.

"I'll drive you to your house, then I'll get it," he said, managing a small smile, "We're going to need a reliable car and yours probably runs better than mine."

Henry hummed doubtfully, drawing soft chuckles from the other two teens.

"I can help," Nancy piped up, "I can drive the other car or—."

"No, you stay here," Jonathan interrupted, Henry frowning but not commenting on the hint of urgency in his tone, "Eat breakfast, it's better if your parents think nothing's wrong."

Nancy looked over to Henry for confirmation. He just shrugged in response. If Jonathan felt the sudden urge to step up and take charge, he wasn't going to fight it.

"Okay, sure," she finally said, softer than before, "Just… don't be gone too long. I don't…"

The boys exchanged a knowing look before Henry reached out and placed his hand on Nancy's shoulder.

"We'll be back before you know it," he promised softly, Nancy looking up at him through her lashes before she nodded, "Enjoy those blueberry pancakes."

Nancy scoffed and shrugged his hand off before the pair giggled. When Henry looked over, Jonathan was smiling too, without the hint of anything other than amusement in his eyes.

"Ready to go?" Henry asked, crossing the distance between the two of them.

"After you." Jonathan gestured towards the open window.

"What? Need me to break your fall?" Henry replied, sticking one leg out and ducking through it despite his words.

"I just want you to get caught by the neighbors first."

.

The moment Henry sat down in Jonathan's Ford LTD, he realized that he'd been completely right; his Cutlass could run circles around this thing.

Not that it was a bad car, it was just old and didn't have someone like Henry looking after it (he didn't see that as bragging, just the truth). Actually, now that he was really paying attention and listening to it, this thing wasn't beyond the point of no return. Just some tune ups here and there, maybe some replaced parts, you wouldn't even be able to tell how much it'd been through. He could have this old girl back to its former glory in no time.

And yeah, Henry knew that he was fixating on the car to keep himself from breaking down over the events of the past twenty-four hours, but frankly he didn't care. If focusing on the sounds of what was undoubtedly the brake pad indicator rubbing against the rotor was what he had to do to keep himself from bursting into tears, then damn it, he'd listen.

What he hadn't considered though, was how that blocked out the rest of the world. When his head was in the clouds—or more accurately, under a hood—he didn't quite pay attention to his surroundings. So, he didn't notice the strange tension that was slowly filling the car as he and Jonathan silently made their way down the road.

At least, he didn't notice until it snapped.

"I wasn't asleep."

"What?" Henry asked, truly confused as he looked over at Jonathan. He'd only kind of heard that, and it was already a pretty vague thing to say. But, clearly it held some weight, going off of Jonathan's serious expression and nervous body language. What—?

"Last night. When you— _talked_ to Nancy. I wasn't asleep."

_Oh, shit._

Last night, he'd just taken Nancy's word, assumed that everything said was private. That was stupid. A mistake he never used to make. But, he'd just been so overwhelmed and it had been tumbling out of him before he could _really _think about it. He hadn't spared a moment to consider that Jonathan might hear it too.

"I—I thought you were going to tell her you liked her or something, I don't know. By the time I realized what was actually happening it was too late and—" Jonathan huffed softly, sounding frustrated, but not with Henry, "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me to know."

It was quiet for a moment, and Henry kept his eyes on the stray thread he kept picking at on his jacket. He really wasn't sure what to say. _"I forgive you" _forgive him for what? Wasn't his fault that he'd overheard what two other people in the same bed as him had said. _"I'm sorry" _what the hell was _he _sorry for? He didn't do anything wrong. _"Yeah, I'm one of those scary homosexuals they talk about on the news and, yeah, I shared a bed with you, but don't worry I promise I'm not interested. Please don't tell anyone else this very sensitive information, I don't want to get beat up," _felt like the closest to the right thing, but just thinking about saying it made his throat burn. Those words felt like a betrayal, he just wasn't sure to who.

"Hey." Jonathan's voice pulled Henry out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see the oddly soft look he was sending him, "I'm not— It's okay. Really. It's okay. I'm not going to tell anyone."

It was quiet again, but Henry didn't feel the need to look away this time. Instead, he met Jonathan's eyes when he glanced away from the road and saw that there was no lie in them. He meant it, completely and genuinely. Without really thinking about it, Henry smiled a little. Jonathan returned it, and it felt like enough.

"I can't believe I doubled the amount of people who know last night," Henry said, mostly joking but unable to keep his real feelings out of it. Jonathan's expression turned into something closer to a frown, but not negatively so. He was just considering it.

"Who else knows?" He asked, before it seemed to dawn on him that might not be an appropriate question, "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"It's fine," Henry said, with a shrug, "Barb, for one. And my brother, Lucas."

"How did you know it was okay to tell them?" Jonathan asked, sounding just the tiniest bit more invested than Henry would've expected, "How did you know they'd be okay with it?"

"Well, I didn't with Lucas," he admitted before he considered the question. He could tell Jonathan actually wanted to know—that he wasn't just making conversation—so he really thought about it. He wanted to be truthful, he wanted to say it _right,_ if only because he might not get another chance.

"I just… I was really young. Like, 12—" he didn't miss the way Jonathan's breath came in the tiniest bit sharper, but he didn't really think about it, "—and I'd realized it a couple of months earlier. I was still trying to figure out how to live knowing that I… I suddenly felt like I _had _to tell someone, and Lucas and I were always pretty close, plus he couldn't really kick me out or anything. So, I just… I took a chance. I felt like I had to. Looking back on it, I can't believe I told my eight year old little brother such a huge secret, but... It worked out."

It was quiet for a moment. Henry hadn't thought about it in a while, but he really was lucky. It had been hard at first. Lucas hadn't really known what it meant, and Henry nearly couldn't admit it to himself, so explaining it to someone else was damn near impossible. But, even when Lucas didn't understand, he'd kept his promise. He never told anybody. It had been four years and he still hadn't.

"What about Barb?" Jonathan interrupted his train of thought, But Henry didn't mind. He'd been getting soppy dangerously close to a lot of unpleasant memories. What he did mind though, was the question.

"Barb… I… She…"

Henry sighed, and returned to that thread. There was no way he could say this, no way he could keep his promise to Barb while still being truthful to Jonathan.

"She is too, isn't she?"

Henry's head snapped up without thinking and he realized too late that there was no way he could play that reaction off. It had been too sudden. His expression was too open and his eyes were too wide to hide the truth. He desperately tried to remember every conversation he'd ever had with Jonathan about Barb, tried to figure out what he'd said to give it away. When he'd blown it.

"That night, in the woods at Steve's," Jonathan said, answering Henry's unspoken question, "I saw her sitting on the diving board, and she looked… When I took her picture, I could tell that she was saying something, something important, but I couldn't tell what. I didn't realize until you said that she knew. Then it all sort of… made sense."

"I promised her I'd never tell anybody," Henry said, his voice small and tight.

"And you didn't," Jonathan reassured him, but he didn't relax. Things were still too much in the air, there was still too much that could go wrong.

"You can't tell Nancy."

"Promise," Jonathan replied, looking over with that same sincerity as before. He meant it.

Henry let out a shaky sigh of relief. It was one thing for his carelessness to result in people knowing about _him_, but Barb… He couldn't be the reason anyone—_Nancy—_knew that she was a lesbian. The guilt might actually kill him.

It was quiet again, but this time it felt like it was for Henry's benefit more than anything else. Like Jonathan was giving him a moment to bring it all back under control. Henry took a few calming breaths, and he felt his pulse slowly return to normal.

The exhaust sounded loose, Jonathan really should fix that.

"If…" Jonathan's hesitant voice brought Henry back to the present, and he looked over to see how his fingers were worrying the leather on the wheel, "You said you didn't know if Lucas would be okay with it. What if he wanted you to know he would be?"

A beat of silence.

_"What?"_ Henry asked, unable to comprehend what the hell he'd meant by that. Jonathan sighed, exasperated with himself, before he tried again.

"Just… What could someone do that would let you know it was safe to tell them?"

"Um…" Henry said with a frown, understanding the question better than before but still feeling rather lost. He looked over at Jonathan with a speculative expression, unable to stop himself, but he didn't ask and Jonathan didn't offer anything. So, he turned his mind back to trying to figure out an answer, "Well, I guess I would feel better if I knew they, you know, didn't _hate _gay people. Like, talking about Elton John liking men and not being weird about it."

Jonathan hummed and Henry looked over to see a surprisingly serious expression on his face. Like he was really absorbing this information, like it was important.

It suddenly occurred to Henry that maybe it _was. _

"But, I wouldn't do that too much," he said hurriedly, feeling like what he was saying wasn't good enough, "I wouldn't constantly be talking about how great gay people are. It would feel—_pointed. _It would make—make _me_ feel like they were trying to push me to tell them. I would… I would probably freak out a little."

"Okay," Jonathan murmured, thinking it over, "Makes sense."

"But, I might still not tell you," Henry warned, trying desperately to communicate what he'd experienced in four years' worth of hiding his sexuality, "I didn't tell Lucas because he was a perfect brother, I didn't tell Nancy because she was my best friend. I told them because I felt like I would lose my mind if I didn't. And if… If _I hadn't _felt that way_, _I wouldn't have told them. Even if I did have the perfect brother who I knew would accept me, I don't know if I'd tell him. It's got nothing to do with him, it's just about me. And he can't change that, can't force it out of me, no matter how nice he is about it."

Jonathan looked over at him with a funny expression and it occurred to him that maybe that last bit had been a tad obvious, but Henry couldn't bring himself to care. Jonathan had asked, and he'd be damned if he didn't give him the best advice he could.

A moment passed, and neither of them said a thing. Neither needed to. No point in saying what they both already knew.

"We've been sitting in your driveway for five minutes."

Henry looked up to see that _yes, _at some point they had parked next to his house. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts and the conversation that he hadn't noticed.

Henry felt his mouth run dry as he took in the seemingly normal front door. Actually, it _was _normal. It was just the fact that he _wasn't _that was making him nervous.

"Everything okay?" Jonathan asked, Henry heaving a heavy sigh in response.

"To be perfectly honest I'd rather double the amount people who know again than talk to my mom right now."

.

"Where have you been?"

Henry raised an eyebrow at his brother's tone as he hung his jacket up on the hook. While he'd expected to be accosted the moment he opened the door, he hadn't exactly expected it to be by Lucas.

"Well, geez, Dad. Did I miss your curfew?" He asked, maybe a little sharper than he would've liked. It had been a long couple of days and it was getting harder and harder to stay pleasant. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas frowned.

"Mom was freaking out all night."

Henry stopped in his tracks as the weight on his shoulders suddenly became nearly unbearable. He knew that would be the case, he knew ditching out overnight would get that reaction from his parents, but it still ached to hear it confirmed.

"Is she home right now?" He finally asked, his tone a little more muted than before.

"No," Lucas replied, a hint of disbelief on his features when Henry sighed in relief, "Erica had a doctor's appointment."

"Well, then I'll be sure to leave before she gets back," Henry said without really thinking about it, hopping up the steps without paying attention to the way Lucas's jaw dropped in response.

"You're just going to leave?" He demanded, following Henry up the stairs, "Without telling her you're okay?"

"Do me a solid and tell her I was here?" Henry asked, rounding the corner into his room with his brother hot on his heels.

"_No!"_ Lucas exploded in response, loud enough that Henry turned around, just in time to catch the horrible cocktail of anger and sadness on his brother's face, "No! I'm not going to cover for you after you take dad's gun and disappear all night!"

"Lucas…" Henry said, sighing heavily and feeling so, _so _tired.

"You can't do that," Lucas persisted, shaking his head harshly, "You can't, not after Mike and Dustin… You _can't._"

Henry looked up to see a stricken look on Lucas's face and realized that the way his brother was acting wasn't just about him being gone. He'd missed something.

"Lucas…" He said again, his tone much gentler than before, "What happened?"

Lucas shook his head again, and guilt wormed its way up Henry's throat. He should've considered that maybe his mother wasn't the only one who had freaked out all night. Clearly, something had happened while he was gone, something with Mike and Dustin. The boys had falling outs from time to time, and Lucas was always upset about it for a day before they all got over it. Usually, Henry just had to pat him on the shoulder and remind him that they were his friends and they loved him, no matter how dick-ish they were acting. But right now, after everything that had happened with Will… That wasn't good enough, Henry knew it.

But, with that acknowledged, he didn't know what to say. He couldn't seem to find the words that he knew his brother needed to hear right now. What usually came so naturally felt impossible.

Henry rubbed his face, painfully aware of the way Lucas watched him, as he searched for something to say. Something that might smooth this all over. Make it all better.

There wasn't anything.

"Are you and Jonathan Byers dating?"

_"What?!"_

Henry's head snapped up and Lucas looked at him with an expression that was _deadly serious._

This wasn't a joke.

He—They—Jonathan—_What?!_

"What on _Earth _would make you think that?" He demanded, and Lucas looked a little affronted. Like he'd insulted his intelligence by asking that.

"Jonathan's never had any friends before, but now you two are acting all _friendly,"_ Lucas said in a tone that Henry never wanted to hear his little brother use, "You walked away to sit alone together at the funeral, then you disappeared all night, _and then_ you guys sat in the driveway for like _half an hour _before you came in."

Henry blinked.

Again, he couldn't think of a single thing to say, because…

Oh, _god._

That made sense.

"You could tell Mom that you slept over at his house to help with his grief or something," Lucas offered as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, clearly just taking Henry's stunned expression as a confirmation, "She might be less mad if she thought you were helping someone. I mean, she's still going to _kill _you, but maybe not as bad."

"I... That's… That's actually a pretty good idea, thank you," Henry said, Lucas smiling at the praise and nodding his head to say _you're welcome, _"But, I'm—I'm not _dating _Jonathan Byers."

"Then why have you been hanging out with him so much?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow, "Why'd he drive you home after you were gone all night?"

Henry opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he was hit with a sudden, terrible realization.

Oh, good _god. _

Him dating Jonathan Byers made so much more fucking sense than the truth.

Lucas nodded sagely, as if he'd expected as much.

"People always said stuff like that about Jonathan, but I didn't pay attention to it because…" He shrugged, before his nose scrunched up, "But, I feel like you could do better."

"I…" Henry started, feeling completely and utterly lost in this conversation, in this _life,_ "Need… to… change. I need to change."

He put his hands on Lucas's shoulders to usher him out of the room, trying to ignore how his brother continued to prattle on about his relationship with Jonathan.

"I mean, he's nice, but he's weird. He reads, like, _Breakfast of Champions _for _fun." _Lucas spun around once he was standing on the other side of the doorway, "Plus, he only listens to music they don't play on the radio. And, I mean, The Talking Heads are fine or whatever, but I don't think he likes Prince and Madonna like you do."

Henry felt no guilt slamming the door in his little brother's face.

_"Also, he once said that people who'd rather go to parties than stay at home with a good book are shallow and probably secretly unhappy!" _Lucas called, his voice muffled through the door, _"I just thought you should know that!"_

Henry leaned his head on the door, feeling more exhausted than ever before, and didn't move until he heard Lucas's footsteps retreating down the stairs.

Instead of dwelling on—on _all that, _he chose to walk over to his closet and begin to pull some stuff out. He passed by his favorite shirts—wouldn't want to get them ruined—or anything that was made of lighter material. Finally he settled on a flannel that his dad had insisted he get because _"you need to own one, Henry," _and a pair of jeans. Once he'd gotten all that on and had laced up his boots, he grabbed one of his heavier jackets out of the closet; not because it was particular cold, but because he supposed that it would be better to be wearing something thicker when… when…

What was he doing?

Henry sat down heavily on his bed as everything hit him all at once.

In the midst of waking up in an unfamiliar room and having to deal with two new people knowing the truth about him, somehow thoughts of what exactly went down last night had gotten muddled and lost. But now? Now that he was sitting alone in his bedroom with nothing to distract him?

This was _insane. _

Monster hunting, that's what he was doing. He was going honest-to-god _monster hunting. _And he hadn't even really questioned it! Just went along with Nancy and Jonathan, hadn't really spared a thought to how he was putting himself in the line of fire of that _thing._

It could tear him apart, no doubt in his mind. He'd be just like that deer. And for what? To help Nancy and Jonathan? He barely knew them! They hadn't exchanged more than a few sentences before a few days ago! To get rid of that creature? That wasn't his responsibility! There was no reason that _he _had to be the one to deal with it! To bring Will and Barb back? He'd been to that place, saw what it was like, and let's face it, they were already _dead_!

oh.

Oh.

Henry fell backwards on his bed and looked up at the ceiling as he considered it. He hadn't admitted it before, not even to himself, but… If Will and Barb had been caught by that creature, then they'd probably been dead near instantly. And even if they somehow got to that place without immediately getting torn apart by that thing… he'd only been there briefly, but… Nothing could survive there, not for long.

They were dead. They had to be. There was no point to this stupid plan he'd concocted with Nancy and Jonathan. They were just going to get killed too. Barb and Will were dead!

_Do you actually believe that, or do you just want it to be true?_

He wasn't sure where that came from, what deep recess of his mind pulled that out, but it caused an immediate visceral reaction. Disgust and guilt and whole plethora of other negative emotions welled up inside him, and his expression twisted into an affronted scowl. Why would he _want _his best friend and a sweet kid to be dead?

_The same reason you were glad Jonathan took pictures of Nancy from the woods._

Oh.

oh.

The front door opened.

It was distant enough that he might not have caught it on a normal day. But, today wasn't normal; he was lying on his bed surrounded by devastating silence. Well, _that_ part wasn't out of the ordinary. Him noticing it was.

He moved without really thinking about it, and he made his way out of his room and down the stairs as the realization of exactly what type of person he was continued to crush him.

His mom was in the kitchen, putting away a bag of groceries while Erica sucked on a lollypop at the table. Mrs. Sinclair didn't see him when he rounded into the room, but Erica did; his little sister's eyes widening comically as he came into view.

"I'm gonna go sit outside," She said, already slipping out of her chair and heading towards the door.

"Okay, Honey," Judith replied, sounding distracted and not even looking back at her daughter. Henry knew this mood, this slightly frenzied preoccupation with menial tasks. It's what happened to his mom when she was worried. Like, if she couldn't control a situation, she could damn well control the contents of her fridge and the state of her linens.

Guilt gripped his throat like a vice, but Henry swallowed hard and forced past it.

"Mom?"

Judith whipped around, and Henry had no idea if she was surprised because of the sudden voice or because of who it belonged to. For a moment, she just looked at her son as if she was seeing a ghost. Henry didn't see that, though. He was too busy staring at her shoes, his shoulders hunched, searching for something to say. Everything felt… _inadequate_.

Then, all at once, the silence ended and she rushed forward to pull Henry into a tight hug. He sunk into it, not realizing how badly he'd needed this after—after _everything _until just now. Without even knowing, he'd spent the last twelve hours desperate for his mother to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

But, he was only going to get one of those things and he knew it.

"Where have you _been?" _Judith demanded, pulling back with her hands on her son's shoulders to try to catch his eyes with her desperate gaze, "You were gone all night! Your father and I were worried sick!"

"I, um…" Henry started, trying to remember the lie that Lucas had concocted on his behalf, but finding nothing. Instead, he just put his hands over his mom's, desperate for any little comfort.

When had this happened?

When had he stopped being able to talk to his family? When had he stopped being able to tell them what they needed to hear? When had he stopped being able to do the one thing he was any good at?

_"Henry," _Judith said, her stern voice cutting through his thoughts like a knife, "Where were you last night?"

Henry didn't answer, and never once looked up from the floor.

He'd never done anything like this before, and even when he did do something that upset his parents, he always owned up to it. Nodded his head, apologized, and took the punishment. It was one of the things he knew made his parents think of him as _"such a good young man."_ He liked that, he liked that he made his parents happy; they were the ones who were there for him, so he did everything he could to make it easier on them.

God, he wished he could do that right now. He wished he could make his mama happy and then get the support he was so desperate for.

But, he couldn't.

Maybe that's why his mother's expression turned stony. Because this wasn't like him, because she wasn't seeing her son right now. Or, at least, she wasn't seeing the son she _knew_.

"This is _not _okay," Judith said, taking a step back and leaving Henry feeling terribly alone, even though he was just standing in the middle of his kitchen, "This is _completely _unacceptable."

She was right. He knew it. He also knew he was making that much worse by not giving his mom an answer and refusing to look her in the eye.

He wanted to say something, anything, to make this stop. He wanted bridge the gap between them. He wanted to get another hug and tell her how _scared _he was. How he was facing something so much bigger than him. How he was terrified of what was going to happen.

How he _couldn't do this. _

And how he was _horrified _of what that said about him.

But, instead of saying any of those things, or even some lie that would make this situation just a little bit better, he just… He said nothing. He just kept looking at the floor and said _nothing_.

"You cannot just disappear all night," Judith continued, _"Especially _after what happened to the Byers boy."

Ironic that she'd bring that up, since the truth was that he'd spent all night in the woods with Jonathan Byers _looking _for Will Byers. Well, looking for that thing that took him, but same difference.

"We were at that poor boy's _funeral _and you just thought it would be perfectly fine to leave and not tell any of us where you were going?!"

Huh, he had done that, hadn't he? Spent all night in the woods, that was. Stole his dad's gun and went looking for some creature without a face. Then he followed right after Nancy through the tree and into that other place. He'd barely even thought about it.

Weird.

"One of Lucas's best friend's is _dead, _Henry, do you understand that? Do you understand that Lucas is experiencing _grief_ right now?"

Weird because when Steve had confronted Jonathan, he'd been so _relieved _to find out it was for a good reason_. _Because, he didn't have to really deal with how he was too much of a coward to stand up for Jonathan. He'd been absolved from doing the right thing.

"The last thing he needs is his big brother walking out the door with barely a goodbye and vanishing on him. Do you understand how not okay that is?"

Ever since he was a kid, he'd thought of himself as a coward. Constantly terrified that someone would find out the truth about him. Turning to nicotine to keep from tearing himself apart because of the fear. Keeping everyone at an arm's length, afraid that if they got any closer they'd see through the façade.

Always feeling like he was right there on the edge of the Quarry again.

So scared of living life as the person he was.

"He was _upset, _Henry. He came home from the Wheelers upset and you weren't here to help him. You weren't here _all night." _

But… a coward doesn't go into the woods at night looking for a monster. A coward doesn't follow a girl he barely knows—_no, no, stop it, tell the truth. _A coward doesn't follow his _friend _into a monster's den. A coward… A coward doesn't admit the truth about himself.

"He doesn't talk to me or your father like he does to you, you know that."

Maybe he wasn't a coward.

"He _needed _you, Henry."

Or, at least, he wasn't one when it counted.

"I hope whatever you were doing was worth it. Worth abandoning your brother, and worrying your parents, and being grounded for at _least _a month."

And it counted right now.

"Barb's missing."

His mom cut off in the middle of her tirade, and the anger she'd been exhibiting for the past few minutes was gone just like that. Maybe she hadn't expected him to say anything, just take whatever she said and accept it, but she certainly hadn't expected him to say _that. _

"What?" She asked.

For the first time since the beginning of this conversation, Henry raised his gaze from the floor and looked his mother in the eye.

"Barb's missing."

It was quiet for a moment as Judith's eyes scanned her son's face, looking for any tell that this was just some sick joke. He wished that there was. He wished he could give her that. But, he couldn't. He couldn't be what his mom wanted right now. He couldn't even be what she needed.

He had to be himself.

"I'm sorry," Henry finally said, utterly genuine, "I… I didn't mean to disappear on you. It just happened. A lot happened last night. I was—I _am _trying to find her. But, that doesn't excuse what I put you, and Dad, and Lucas, and Erica through. I'm sorry. Really. I mean it."

Judith nodded wordlessly, clearly still processing this new information, and her eyes lowered as she ruminated on it; factored it into everything she already knew to be true, and likely mentally lessened the punishment she was going to level on him. But, that didn't matter. She wouldn't after what he said next.

Henry took a deep breath, because that had been hard to say. That was… That wasn't something a coward would do. But now…

Now it was time to be brave.

"But, I'm not staying."

Judith looked up sharply with wide eyes, and Henry couldn't blame her. He could hardly believe he'd said it either.

"What did you just say?" Her voice was low, cautionary. The kind of tone that sent him and his siblings into hurried apologies. And, god, a part of him wanted to do that. Wanted to mutter that he was sorry and run right back up the stairs to wait it out in his room. Forget about Barb and Will, forget about the monster and that place, forget about…

The sound of tires on pavement pulled his attention to the window over the sink, and he watched as his car pulled into the driveway. Through the windshield, he could see Jonathan and Nancy, side-by-side, and he realized something that he should've the moment he became friends with Barb.

It was easier to be brave when you weren't alone.

His jaw set and he felt his shoulders go back before he looked down at his mother. It was easy to forget when all he ever did was slouch over desks and lean against walls, but Henry was 6'2.

In that moment, he looked every inch.

"I'm not staying," Henry repeated, his voice even and strong but not harsh, "You can ground me for the rest of my life if you like, I'll deserve it, but I'm leaving. And I'm not coming back until this is finished."

Henry didn't shy away from eye contact, just looked at his mom with nothing but determination written on his features. He was unwavering. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, that would make him stay. He was going to finish this, one way or another.

And, while everything about Judith broadcasted how shocked she was in this moment, there was something else. Something in her eyes. Something that she herself probably didn't even realize was there.

Something like _pride_.

"I've got to go," Henry said, walking without hesitation towards the door.

"Henry…" Judith said weakly, like she was at a total loss of what to say. He didn't blame her, he wasn't entirely sure where this was coming from either.

"I'll try to call," he said, offering what he could. As he headed towards the door, he passed the living room, where (previously unbeknownst to him) three pre-teens stood.

Mike and Dustin both had eyes as wide as dinner plates, but neither looked more shocked than Lucas. Of course, he knew just how out of the ordinary this was. Sure, the other boys where aware that Henry wasn't the type to talk that way to his parents—hell, they'd teased him about being a "Mama's boy" when they'd stayed for dinner and Judith had dropped a kiss on his head. But, no one else on the _planet_ knew exactly _how _radical this was more than Lucas.

Henry wasn't even embarrassed.

Instead, he looked at their shocked expressions and spoke with an authority he didn't know he had.

"Stay out of the woods."

The three boys nodded (Henry might've even heard a muttered _yes, sir _from Dustin), and who knows if they'd actually listen to him or not. But, Henry didn't care. Because even though he was heading out into an uncertain future, even though everything he knew to be true about the universe had been completely flipped last night, and even though he was Black _and _gay in a world that hated both, he wasn't scared.

Because he was heading out to a car where his two friends were waiting for him; because now that he knew what the problem was, he could fix it; because he was _Henry Sinclair._

And for the first time in his life, he felt like Will had been _right _to call him the Indestructible Teen.


	7. good friends, and bad ones

"So."

If it weren't for the current circumstances, Henry might've cracked a smile at that.

The sharp way the monosyllable passed Nancy's pursed her lips paired with her raised eyebrows made for quite the funny picture. But, all of that wasn't exactly on Henry's radar right now, and instead of laughing, he just did the bare minimum of acknowledgement –sliding his eyes towards her without a word.

"Everything okay?" She asked hesitantly, almost like she was a little afraid of the answer. To be fair, Henry had been pretty silent since he'd stalked out of his house and into his car, and unsettling stillness wasn't exactly in character for him.

But, then again, _nothing _he'd done in the past few days was in character for him.

Maybe he just didn't know exactly what his character _was._

"I mean, I disappeared overnight, came back just to say my best friend is missing, and then fucked back off," Henry finally offered, glancing sideways, "I don't think that really went over well."

"Sorry," Nancy murmured, and Henry sighed slightly; her gentle voice somehow killed all the tension pent up in him, and his shoulders drooped a little because of it.

"It's not your fault," he replied after a moment, sounding very genuine and _very_ tired, "I don't even know if it's anyone's. Could be mine, but…"

"Nobody can blame you for not knowing what to say after everything that happened last night," Jonathan piped up from the back, although his voice was soft. Henry simply nodded, but he found himself focusing more on the understandingin Jonathan's tone more than anything else.

Who would've thought that he would ever feel _camaraderie _with Jonathan Byers?

Then again, who would've thought he would ever be driving downtown with him _and _Nancy Wheeler to pick up supplies to kill a monster?

Yeah, there was a pretty good reason why he couldn't tell the truth to his mom _or _his brother.

That reminded him.

"Hey, Jonathan?" Henry said, catching his eye in the mirror, "Just, uh, FYI, my brother totally thinks we're dating."

No sooner had that left his lips did Henry regret bringing it up.

Just because someone said they were okay with _him _being the way he was didn't mean they'd take even the _implication_ that they would be involved in anything remotely similar very well. Especially someone like Jonathan, who'd had far more than his fair share of bathroom stall graffiti calling him a queer.

But, when Henry glanced back at him in the rear-view mirror, he didn't see hatred or disgust on Jonathan's features. He just looked kind of—_bashful._

"What—How—?" Jonathan stumbled over his words as his cheeks flushed an _impressive _shade of pink, _"Why?"_

"Well, he said it was because I was gone all night, and then _you _brought me home, and we sat in your car for like ten minutes talking," Henry replied, so matter-of-fact that it almost made it sound like a normal situation, "I didn't really know what to say to that."

"Because that makes more sense than the truth," Jonathan finished for him, upgrading from a pink shade to a pure red as he refused to meet Henry's eyes in the mirror. But, it wasn't because of revulsion or anything like that. Henry could tell that this was pure shyness stemming from uncharted romantic territory, no matter how hypothetical.

Henry was smiling slightly when he finally took his attention away Jonathan—pretty pleased that he hadn't accidentally alienated one of the few people who knew— but that slipped away when he caught sight of the way _Nancy _was looking at him. For a split second, he wondered if he'd been worrying about the wrong person in this car. If maybe he'd pushed _her _too far and now good suburban girl Nancy Wheeler couldn't handle his gayness anymore. If it was palpable in theory, but hearing him talk about being with a man was too much for her.

But, just as soon as he'd thought that, he saw how her wide eyes glanced back at Jonathan, and he realized that his fears were unfounded.

"Oh, he knows."

"What?" Nancy asked, soft and confused in response to Henry's casual statement.

"Yeah, he wasn't asleep when I told you," he continued, shrugging, "He knows."

Nancy continued to look at Henry with a funny expression as she processed this development. Then, the next thing he knew, she'd twisted around in her seat and was reaching into the backseat to smack Jonathan.

"That was _private, Jonathan!" _Nancy exclaimed, getting a few good hits in before Jonathan got with the program and blocked them in a way only an older brother could, "Don't eavesdrop on other peoples' _private conversations!"_

"We were all in the same bed!" Jonathan replied, his words doing absolutely nothing to deter her.

"Nancy! _Nancy!"_ Henry called over the noise, trying to grab her and turn her back around in her seat while still driving the car, "It's okay! It's _really_ okay!"

It could've been his words that made Nancy stop attacking Jonathan, or his attempts to break up this poor excuse for a fight. But, it probably wasn't either.

What most likely did it was the way his laughter rang out above all the commotion.

Nancy—out of breath and with a few strands of hair framing her face after escaping her ponytail— settled back in her seat. But, her eyes never left Henry, and while her expression wasn't exactly a smile, there was a gentle warmth present. The kind that just precedes one.

"Really?" She asked, and Henry felt his heart swell a little at the sincerity in her question. As if the answer truly mattered to her.

_"Really," _he replied, letting the silence that followed last, letting Nancy understand that he meant it.

Sure enough, she smiled after a few moments, and Henry couldn't help but return it.

"We'll just—_deal _with all of this, and then I'll tell Lucas that I dumped him," Henry said once the moment passed, coaxing a giggle out of Nancy.

"Why can't it be mutual?" Jonathan protested.

"Lucas would never believe it," Henry said, shaking his head with his best imitation of a serious expression, "He told me I could do better."

As Jonathan sputtered, Nancy's giggles evolved into full blown laughter, and Henry found himself grinning. The tension from before was gone, and despite what had happened earlier—despite _everything—_he was having _fun_.

Maybe this was just what it was like to have friends your age. Driving around on a nice fall day and laughing with them. Henry wouldn't really know. Barb had been his only real friend and their relationship was based around the shared experience of being homosexuals in a town where that was just a fancy word for dead man. It was amazing and exactly what Henry needed, but not a whole lot of room for cruising and giggling.

Maybe there would be, though. Maybe he and Barb would be the type of friends that got to be weightless, without having this burden dragging them down. Maybe when their situations changed and they weren't always looking over their shoulders. Maybe one day.

"Okay," Nancy said, cutting through Henry's reverie with an uncertain voice, "You totally don't have to answer this. I don't mean anything by it, really. I'm just curious and—."

"Nancy," Henry interrupted, smiling slightly, "Just ask."

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Nancy's question wasn't unexpected, but it did make Henry want to laugh a little bit. It was just so absurd_. _He wasn't convinced there was someone in the entire world for him, let alone _Hawkins._

"Nope," Henry replied without a second of hesitation. Nancy nodded like that didn't surprise her (it _really _shouldn't), but something in her expression made him wonder if maybe it had disappointed her a little.

"But, I mean, you've had crushes on the boys at school, right?" She asked, Henry shrugging slightly.

"Not really," he replied, "They're all kind of stupid. Also none of them are very good-looking."

"Henry!" Nancy said, her chastising tone ruined by the laughter in her voice and the smile on her face.

"What?" Henry replied, grinning too now, "It's not my fault we live in a town of unattractive boys."

"Well, you've had to have had a crush on _some _boy," Nancy replied, Henry sending her an unimpressed look,"How would you know that you liked boys if you didn't find one attractive?"

"That wasn't a boy at school," Henry replied, maybe mumbling it a little bit more than he should have. But, it didn't matter, because they heard it all the same.

"So there _was _a boy?" Jonathan asked, leaning his arms against the back of the front seat while Nancy nodded along.

"It wasn't—" Henry sighed slightly as his smile turned a little nervous, "It was a celebrity, okay? Just a stupid celebrity crush."

"Oh my _god," _Nancy said, sounding like this was the greatest news she'd heard in a while (which it honestly might've been given the past week), "Who?"

Henry opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He hadn't noticed how probing their stares had become until now.

It wasn't necessarily in a _bad _way; they weren't looking at him like he was some weirdo they were trying to figure out. But, it was pretty obvious that they were interested in what he had to say for less than honorable reasons. Almost like when Lucas would come ask him a question and Henry would just _know _he was up to something, but have no proof.

"It seems like you don't want us to know." Jonathan said, "Is it someone bad?"

"It's—I'm not—" Henry stumbled over his words as he felt his cheeks heat up, "It's not bad, at least I don't think it is."

_"Ooooh," _Nancy said, sitting up straighter in her seat and making Henry feel like he'd fucked up, even though he didn't know how, "This isn't because of who it is, it's because you _still _have a crush on him!"

"He—I—_Shut up!"_ Henry yelled, Nancy and Jonathan dissolving into laughter, "God, you are the _worst_."

"Well, who is it?" Nancy pressed, gently pushing on Henry's shoulder, "Come on, you've got to tell us."

Henry groaned dramatically. He didn't have to, he knew that. He didn't have to tell them. One hint of this being too far and they'd back off without a word.

But, it _wasn't. _It wasn't too far. They weren't saying things that hurt. They were just—they were _embarrassing_ him. Plain, old-fashioned _embarrassment_.

Henry was beginning to wonder if all he'd missed out on by not having friends was the _teasing_.

"Prince, okay?" Henry's cheeks _burning _as he forced it out_, _"It's Prince."

The sound of Nancy's and Jonathan's shouts drowned out the muttered _"I hate you both," _from Henry.

"You know, they're making a movie about him," Nancy offered, Henry sending her a sideways look before he replied.

"Yes, Nancy. I'm well aware."

"I mean, it's not that bad to have a crush on Prince," Jonathan allowed with a thoughtful hum, "To listen to his music…"

"Jonathan, if you insult Prince's music I will pull over right here and make you walk," Henry replied, maybe a tad too serious for what he was saying. But, Nancy laughed all the same.

"I agree," she said, Henry sending her a dirty look, "That it's not _bad. _Prince is attractive."

"I'm not embarrassed about _that_, I just…" Henry shrugged, feeling a little at a loss, "I don't really… I never talk about this stuff, is all."

It was quiet for a moment, and Henry was deeply aware of the fact that he might have just killed the vibe with his honesty.

"How much did you miss out on?"

Jonathan sounded different now. That lighthearted quality that so rarely appeared in his voice was gone, and now there was a note of solemnity. Henry didn't blame him. He would want to know too, if he were him. He'd want to know all the little things that can hurt.

_"Jonathan," _Nancy hissed, but Henry put his hand out.

"It's fine, he…" He didn't finish that thought, and it was quiet for a moment before he glanced back at Jonathan, "This kind of stuff mostly. Just, talking to people without having to… _worry_."

"Henry…" Nancy's gentle voice commanding attention, "What you didn't get to do before… You can do it now. With us. If you want."

Henry smiled softly at that. He knew that wasn't a fix. Far from it, in fact. You'd need a time machine to make everything all better. But, the intention behind Nancy's words meant way more to him than anything she could ever actually do. He only hoped that the way he smiled at her got that across. Going off the way she smiled back, he thought it probably did.

"Well, you two can't help me catch up with _everything," _Henry pointed out, his smile slowly morphing into something playful.

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked, putting on a good show of being confused, "Jonathan's already your boyfriend."

"You and Lucas pushing the two of us together won't solve _all_ of my problems_," _Henry replied. The pair laughed and Henry glanced in the mirror to see how Jonathan had turned pink again, but he managed to push past that embarrassment to join in.

"Well, what else is there?" Henry could tell that this was a real question hidden under the guise of light conversation, "Other than talking about crushes and dating, what else did you miss out on?"

"It'll bring down the mood of the car, fair warning," Henry said, forcing his casual smile to stay in place even though what he said was completely true.

"Hey," Nancy said with a small smile, catching his attention with the genuine note to her voice, "I meant it. The stuff you didn't get to do, you can do it with us. And that includes being a downer."

Henry laughed at that and he almost felt bad about how he was about to wipe the smiles off of the two other teens' faces.

"It's—It's not even something I've missed out on," He started, worrying the leather of the wheel under his fingertips as he spoke, "It's just… It's something I know I'm not going to get."

Nancy and Jonathan both looked at confused, and Henry knew it was for good reason. But, he also knew that they'd understand once he said it. So, with a rueful smile, he spoke simply and quickly. He didn't need to drag this one out. They'd get it.

"I always wanted kids."

It was quiet. Henry kept his eyes on the road rather than looking over and seeing the way his friends reacted to that one. They'd asked, he reminded himself, they'd wanted to know.

After a moment, Nancy placed a hand on his shoulder, and Henry looked over to see her sad little smile. He looked back out towards the road, not even glancing in the mirror to see the face that Jonathan was making—he already knew what it would look like—and he couldn't stop himself from snorting softly.

"Yeah, see, told you. Mood killer."

.

It was weird to walk around Hawkins now.

People passed the three of them on the street without a second glance, as if it were any old day. As if the world hadn't been shattered the night before and had continued to well into the morning. As if Henry Sinclair, Jonathan Byers, and Nancy Wheeler were an average trio of teens making their way down the pavement.

As if Jonathan wasn't carrying a box full of gasoline and bear traps.

But, then again, it wasn't like they were giving many clues that there was any cause for concern.

"Monster hunting?" Jonathan asked, Henry unable to keep himself from smiling at the barely contained laughter obvious in his voice. Nancy smiled, a little sheepish but without a hint of regret, and she sent the two boys a thoughtful look as they loaded their array of purchases into the back of Henry's car.

"You know, last week… I was shopping for a new top I thought Steve might like. It took me and Barb all weekend," She said, a soft huff of a laugh slipping past her lips, "It seemed like life or death, you know? And… And _now…"_

"You're shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers and Henry Sinclair?" Jonathan finished for her, Henry unable to keep himself from snorting at that concise summarization.

God, what had he even been doing last week?

Nothing, probably. Just like he always did. Fixing his car, doing his homework, and lounging around the house.

_Actually, _now that he thought about it, he was probably talking to Barb. Yeah, he remembered now, after she finished helping Nancy find that top, she'd called Henry and bitched for an hour and a half about how she'd been dragged from store to store to help her stupid best friend impress a douchebag who probably wouldn't even notice what she was wearing. Henry hadn't really contributed much to that conversation beyond _"right,"_ _"that sucks," _and_ "she's ridiculous."_

Now he was loading enough equipment to kill a Grizzly into his car with that ridiculous girl in question.

Funny how things turn out.

"What's the weirdest part?" Jonathan's voice pulled Henry from his musings, although it was almost as if he'd heard his exact thoughts, "The bear traps or us?"

"You," Nancy replied with a smile, "It's definitely you. Henry's not that weird."

Henry couldn't help but giggle at that, and Jonathan and Nancy followed suit with their own soft chuckles. It was nice, having people to laugh with.

"Hey, Nance!" Someone honked, and Henry looked over to see a guy he recognized from around school leaning out the side of his car with a smirk, "Can't wait to see your movie."

Any thoughtful considerations of how their lives had been changed so quickly were abruptly ended by that. Jonathan caught Henry's eye over Nancy's head and sent him a lost look, which he returned.

"What was that about?" Henry asked, Nancy's frown deepening.

"I don't know."

Without another word, Nancy spun on her heel and headed in the direction the car had come from. Again, Henry and Jonathan exchanged a look before they followed after her; neither one entirely certain what was going on or what she was thinking. As they ran down the sidewalk, the two boys lagging behind her, Jonathan called out trying to get her attention. It didn't work though, because she was too caught up in the vandalized marquee over the movie theater.

_ALL THE RIGHT MOVES  
STARRING NANCY THE SLUT WHEELER_

For the third time in half a minute, Henry and Jonathan exchanged glances. Only this time, they weren't quite so lost.

Distantly, they heard the sound of a spray can and someone laughing obnoxiously, and before Henry could even think _"dumbasses are sitting right next to the scene of the crime" _Nancy had stalked towards the alley, and Jonathan and Henry were powerless to do anything but follow.

Henry hesitated at the entrance for a moment, when a slap echoed across the brick walls of the surrounding buildings, but he pushed on when he heard Nancy's voice. Her distress was blatantly apparent to Henry, even though all he could see was her back from a distance.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Steve Harrington replied, his anger running far colder than Nancy's, "What's wrong with _you?_ I was worried about you… I can't believe that I was actually worried about you."

"What are you talking about?" Nancy spat back at Steve, but Henry could hear the legitimate confusion running through her voice, as if she had no idea why this was happening right now.

He got it, he really did. How someone could do this to a person they claim to care about was hard to comprehend, especially when you're so badly hurt. But, he'd already pieced together what was going on here. At least, he'd managed to come up with a probable reason behind Steve's anger.

If nothing else, the graffiti on the wall that read _Byers Is A Perv _had shed some light on the situation.

"I wouldn't lie if I were you," Carol cut in, and now that they were getting closer, Henry could see her sickly pleased grin, "You don't want to be known as the _lying_ slut now, do you?"

"Speak of the devil," Tommy added, his smiled widening as he caught sight of Jonathan _and_ Henry, "Or _devils. _Jesus, Nancy, how many guys do you have?"

So, yeah, Henry was right.

He didn't feel very happy about that fact, though.

Tommy's words were enough to confirm that they thought something was going on between Nancy and the two of them, but Steve's expression was the nail in the coffin. He was looking at them with such a cold, bitter expression that Henry could hardly reconcile the man standing in the alley with the guy who'd spilled croquet mallets all over Nancy's garage and struggled to put them back. That guy that had made Henry think that maybe Steve wasn't so bad—that maybe he'd passed judgment a little too harshly—was gone now.

Jesus, was that only _yesterday?_

"You came by last night," Nancy said, and Henry could tell it had clicked in her head as well.

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Does she get a prize?" Carol chimed in obnoxiously, and Henry couldn't keep himself from throwing a glare in her direction.

"Look, I don't know what you think you saw, but it wasn't like that," Nancy continued, disregarding everyone else and focusing on Steve, which was probably a good strategy. Carol and Tommy H weren't the type to be reasoned with.

"What, you just let Byers in your room to… study?" Steve asked, his tone heavy with accusation; his eyes flickering back towards Henry for a brief moment before he spoke again, "And, uh, Sinclair just needed to pick up a review paper?"

"We were just—" Nancy started, and even from the back Henry could see how the cogs in her mind were turning.

"You were just what?" Steve interrupted with a sharp voice, "Finish that sentence."

It was quiet for a long moment, and Henry's chest ached in sympathy for what he knew Nancy was going through. It was the same thing that he'd experienced when Lucas had confronted him about dating Jonathan. Only in this case, instead of being unable to privately defend against something that really didn't matter, Nancy's whole reputation was being slandered by someone who she _thought_ cared about her.

"Go to hell, Nancy," Steve said once the silence had lasted for long enough to be damning, and Henry knew that this conversation needed to be over.

"Nancy, come on," He said, his voice gentle as he put his hands on her forearms and pulled her back. Maybe it was a gesture that could be misread as intimate, but at this point what did it matter? Nancy needed comfort, and things couldn't get much worse than this.

"I've got to admit, you've got some balls, Sinclair," Steve cut in, and Henry tried to convince himself to just ignore it and get Nancy out of here, "Acting all friendly with a guy, joking around with him, laughing in his face, all while you sneak around with his girlfriend? I mean, _wow._"

And maybe it was the pressures of the past week, or maybe this new surge of protectiveness that he'd never felt before, or maybe even this strange feeling of betrayal as he remembered the Steve he'd spoken to yesterday, but when Henry pulled Nancy back, he put himself in front of her. He put himself in between her and Steve.

"Henry."

Jonathan's voice was low, a warning. Not a discouragement, just a reminder. When Henry glanced back at him, clearly whatever was in his eyes was enough for Jonathan, because he simply nodded and took over comforting Nancy, who looked between Henry and Steve with a nervous expression. It seemed that she wasn't quite sure what was going to happen and the possibilities were concerning her.

Of course, Henry wasn't sure either.

But, at the same time, he wasn't too worried about it.

Steve continued to glare at him coldly, but what Henry found to be far more interesting was that there was way more going on behind the forced apathetic mask than he probably would've like him to think. Because when he looked, he could see the whirlwind of emotion in Steve's eyes. And if he _really _looked, he could see that anger wasn't predominate.

"Did it make you feel better?"

"What?" Carol asked, laughing slightly in disbelief. Henry didn't even spare her a glance. He kept his eyes firmly on Steve, who didn't reply.

"Spray painting that on the Hawk," Henry expanded, shrugging slightly, "Did it make you feel any better?"

It was quiet, but even though Steve continued to say nothing, he'd given Henry all the answer he needed. He'd given it the moment Henry had seen how _sadness _was the emotion that reigned inside of him.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, nodding his head a little, "Hurting people you care about usually doesn't help."

_"Strong _words from the guy who screwed his girlfriend," Tommy H interjected with that smug grin still permanently affixed to his expression.

"Tommy, shut the fuck up, nobody likes you," Henry said so simply that it hardly even registered as an insult, just as a statement of fact.

"_She_ doesn't _like _you, she's just a—" Carol started with a nasty smile, before she was interrupted.

"I didn't have sex with Nancy, Steve," Henry said, so painfully genuine, but not defensive, "And we could stand here while I walk you through exactly what happened last night, but it wouldn't matter. You think Nancy cheated on you, you don't, it's not going to make a difference to you. You're going to keep being unhappy."

For the first time, Steve outwardly reacted, and his eyebrows rose as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. He took a step forward that was most likely meant to be threatening, but Henry didn't move an inch. He wasn't scared of him.

Maybe that had to do with the way he'd felt Nancy and Jonathan close in behind him.

"Are you _seriously _pretending that you have nothing to do with why I'm angry right now?" Steve said with his lips tugging upwards as if this was so ridiculous that he couldn't help but laugh.

"That's not what I'm saying," Henry replied, far more evenly, "I'm saying that it doesn't matter whether or not I slept with your girlfriend because either way you're still going to have friends who _laugh _when you're upset."

Steve backed off.

Not a whole lot, just a little, but Henry saw it. He saw how confusion overtook his expression. He saw how thoroughly off-guard he'd caught him. He saw the way the truth slapped him in the face far harder than Nancy ever could.

Good.

It was about time Steve Harrington woke up and faced the music.

"So, go ahead, be angry at me. I really don't care. But, don't pretend like the reason that you're _miserable _has anything to do with me, or Nancy, or Jonathan," Henry said, heat rising in his voice, "And the _next time _you feel like shit and need to do something about it, consider finding some new people to talk to rather than taking it out on Nancy or Jonathan. I don't like it when you do that. You know, because they're _my friends, _and I _care_ when someone's hurt them."

Henry mentally prepared himself for getting punched.

The words he hadn't realized that had been festering in the back of his mind since freshman year had bubbled to the front, and the courage he'd found inside of him earlier mixed with the confidence brought by having people in his corner and pushed them right out of his mouth.

And it'd felt _good_.

He didn't even care if he got punched for it.

Steve didn't hit him.

He didn't say anything, either. Instead, Steve just looked at him with a stricken expression, like he never in a million years would've expected him to say that (which was completely fair; if everything had been normal, Henry doubted he would have). But, it wasn't just the shock that Henry "easy-going" Sinclair had spoken with such passion that had taken over Steve's expression. There was something else there too. Something that made Henry think he might've gotten far too close for comfort.

Steve didn't say anything, likely because he didn't have anything _to _say, and… And it occurred to Henry that he really didn't care if he did. Barb was still missing, they still had a monster to kill; Steve Harrington had already wasted enough of his time.

Henry sent quick glances to the people on either side of him and, although he wasn't entirely certain what he was looking for in their faces, he found it. With one last look at Steve, Henry turned on his heel and started to walk away—Nancy and Jonathan falling in line beside him.

Distantly, Henry heard how Tommy H and Carol muttered, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They were nasty people. They always had been and he'd always known that. Why would he start listening to what they had to say now?

It wasn't until Steve's louder voice called after them did he start to actually listen. Even then though, all he could muster was an eye roll.

It was pretty obvious that Steve hadn't really taken his words into consideration. Not just because he was still raving about them sleeping with Nancy, but because he hadn't said anything until his friends had egged him on.

And maybe there was a small part of Henry that tugged at that, something different than annoyance. But, he didn't dwell on it; there were a lot more deserving recipients of his sympathy.

Besides, any remaining amount of understanding inside of him for Steve was dashed away when he heard what he had to say.

"You know what? I'm actually kind of impressed with _you_, Byers. Didn't think you had it in you. I always took you for a _queer_."

They didn't snap to look at him, at least.

That was one good thing that Henry could take from this moment. Jonathan and Nancy didn't obviously turn their heads when Steve used that word, and instead their eyes slid over towards him. Less noticeable, and he really doubted that Steve was on the lookout for any sort of tell. But honestly, that was like slapping a Band-Aid on an open wound.

Henry liked to think he didn't outwardly react to that, but at best he didn't respond enough that the group they were walking away from could pick up on it. He knew his expression twisted into something bitter, that hurt flashed across his eyes, and that it was enough to be noticeable to the people who were looking for it.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean everyone's always said that. But, now you're taking pictures of girls in their underwear and sleeping with guy's girlfriends so I guess you're just a run-of-the-mill perv."

Steve's voice was still close; he was following them down the alleyway. Something—maybe Henry's words or maybe just this whole situation—had pushed him to make one last ditch effort to hurt them before they left.

It was working, just probably not in the way he thought.

"I mean, I guess that all doesn't mean you're _not _a queer. Maybe having a threesome with my girlfriend was just a way to get closer to—"

_Crack!_

Henry and Nancy both jumped back and let out some sort of expletive as Steve stumbled away from them—the force of Jonathan's punch enough that he needed to grab a hold of the wall to stay upright. It was quiet for a moment (Henry wasn't sure who was the most shocked) before Steve charged at Jonathan.

Henry watched with wide eyes as they both threw themselves wholeheartedly into the fight. He expected this from Steve—he'd gotten in his fair share of schoolyard tumbles in the past—but _Jonathan. _Jonathan who'd cried for a week after shooting a bunny was _wailing _on the guy.

Although, Henry supposed that a rabbit was an innocent creature, and Steve had been calling him a queer, so maybe that made this a little different.

_"Henry," _Nancy said, sending him an imploring look. Henry just shrugged. He didn't want to get in the middle of this fight. He didn't get involved in fights _ever, _but this one especially. He had a feeling that if he tried to pull Jonathan and Steve apart all he would get was hit in the face.

Besides, Jonathan was holding his own.

And to be perfectly honest this felt pretty deserved.

The only moment Henry actually almost got pulled in was when Tommy H decided to try to join the fray. But, before Henry was forced to keep Jonathan from having to go one against two, Steve shooed him away and the fight was even again.

But, it was still an unfair match, because Jonathan was beating the _shit _out of Steve. To the point that Henry finally heeded Nancy's words and shuffled a little closer—still not entirely into the idea of trying to break them up.

"Jonathan, man—"

Sirens sounded and Henry hopped back from the two teens on the ground; putting his back to the alley wall and pulling his hands out of his pockets as he watched the cop car roll up.

Two officers that looked vaguely familiar hurried out, but Jonathan still wasn't stopping. It was like he hadn't even noticed. He was singularly focused on destroying Steve's face.

Henry winced when they tried to separate them, because what had been "fighting in an alley like a teenage dumbass" was quickly taken to "assaulting a police officer" in one moment. He stayed put though, and just watched it all unravel.

They were able pull Jonathan away after a moment, but Steve managed to get free in that scuffle—him and the rest of his group running away far faster than the cop that chased them. Henry almost wanted to join them, but he knew better, so instead he just exchanged a nervous look with Nancy as an officer slammed Jonathan down against the car and cuffed him.

This was bad.

Bad for their friend, bad for them, and bad for their plan.

And yet, it somehow managed to get _worse_.

_Seriously?!" _Henry exclaimed before he could think better of it.

Before he could remind himself of what not to do when getting arrested.

The next thing Henry knew, the three of them were stuffed into the back of the patrol car, and Nancy was the only one without her hands in cuffs.

.

Although the Hawkins Police usually didn't deal with much more than disputes between neighbors and the occasional prank on an unsuspecting farmer by some teenagers, the station was never exactly quiet.

For one, the residents of the town had a tendency to just roll right up whenever they wanted the police's attention (probably because they knew that calling would just mean having their minor problem ignored), and even if they weren't preoccupied, the cops had a way of making themselves appear busy. Probably so as to not alert anyone to the fact that the town of Hawkins needed exactly one of them.

But, even though the station was at its normal bustle, there was a stifling silence between the three teenagers sat in the corner.

Nancy was picking at the hem of her shirt with one hand and playing with her hair with the other; a combination of nervous ticks that only she was capable of doing right now. On either side of her, the two boys were doing what they could with hands cuffed together—Jonathan had taken to resting them on the desk and picking at the wood while Henry kept his mostly still in his lap.

Henry readjusted his hands slightly and winced as the metal dug into his skin. He couldn't stop himself from throwing glances towards the door every few seconds, which was probably making the people in the station think that he was considering making a break for it. But, the reality wasn't that he was thinking of running out, rather than he was terrified of who was going to come _in_.

The thought of his parents seeing him like this was giving him heart palpitations.

"I'm sorry."

Nancy's voice was soft, as if she wasn't sure if it was okay for her to talk, but it still cut through the silence and Henry's thoughts. He didn't blame her for being hesitant to speak; Jonathan had been uncomfortably silent since they'd been thrown into the cop car, only muttering thanks when Nancy pressed some ice against the bruise on his forehead, and Henry hadn't exactly been forthcoming once he'd gotten cuffed.

But, she still spoke, and both boys looked at her without the slightest hint of resentment.

"For Steve," Nancy continued despite the overwhelming _shame _in her voice, "I should've… I didn't realize he was—like that. I thought…"

Nancy frowned and it occurred to Henry that this was the expression that came right before someone burst out in tears. He felt his own throat start to tighten in response, but he pushed past that. Now was not the time to start crying.

"Hey," Henry said softly, catching her attention, "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" Nancy replied, her voice wavering, "How could I not know that he was the type of person who would _do _something like that? _Say _those things?"

"Because he wasn't like that with you," Henry countered, Nancy's frown deepening like that wasn't good enough. Like what he'd said wasn't enough to convince her of the truth.

So he'd just have to say more.

"I… I wasn't lying earlier, I think that a lot of _all that_ is Tommy H and Carol. Not that he isn't at fault for it, he willingly goes along with them, it's just… When you were dating Steve, you got the guy who spills croquet sets and giggles about it, not the guy who gets in fights and calls people—" Henry voice got caught in his throat, and he had to shake his head slightly—like he was pushing away those thoughts—before he could speak again, "What I'm trying to say is that you got the _best _version of Steve. You didn't really see the type of person that Tommy and Carol bring out in him. That—and _this… _God, Nancy, it isn't your fault."

Henry's words lingered in the silence long after they'd been said.

It was a lot, all of this was, and Henry felt for Nancy. Having her best friend go missing only for the person she cared about to hurt her like that? There was a reason he'd nearly started sympathy crying in the middle of the police station, and there was a reason his words were _genuinely _forgiving of any misstep that Nancy might've taken that led them here. And maybe that reason had more to do with this new friendship than anything else, but he didn't care.

Henry had been telling the truth in the alley: Nancy and Jonathan were his friends, and he didn't like it when someone hurt them.

It wasn't until she smiled slightly did the tension break (although it was a pained and wobbly one), and he returned it with an equally bittersweet smile of his own.

Then Nancy laid her head on his shoulder.

She'd done it without saying a word, just plopped her cheek right down and wrapped her arms around one of his. It was simple, but it brought a shocking amount of comfort with it. The feeling of her pressed against his side and the sound of her gentle breathing in his ear reminded him of the night before, when Nancy had done the exact same thing in her bed. When everything had tumbled out of him.

But, it wasn't just that. It felt familiar, it felt like something he'd been experiencing for years, it felt like…

It felt like something Lucas or Erica would do when they were alone together.

Henry buried his face in Nancy's hair, and it was quiet.

"I don't understand why they arrested you," Nancy mumbled into his jacket, and the moment snapped.

Henry sighed softly and raised his head, but Nancy either didn't notice or chose not to acknowledge it, because she continued talking as if he hadn't.

"The secretary said that they'd let me go soon but not you and Jonathan." The crease that appeared in Nancy's brow when she was trying to figure something out now becoming familiar, "You were standing next to me, you didn't do anything. Why would they keep you?"

"Nancy," Henry said softly, looking down at her, and once the pair made eye contact, they didn't break it. Not even when she lifted her head off of his shoulder. A part of him hoped she would just look into his eyes and understand. That he wouldn't have to explain. But, when the seconds ticked by with no such luck, he knew he would have to.

"Nancy, what's the difference between me and you?"

Nancy frowned in confusion, and Henry could all but hear the first thought that popped into her head. He didn't blame her for it exactly—they had been talking about it a lot recently—but come on. That wasn't _all _he was.

_"Other _than that."

Now that that thought had been brushed aside, Henry could see how the wheels started to turn in Nancy's mind.

He could see the _exact _moment when she realized why he was in cuffs and she was not.

Nancy tore her eyes away from his and sat back in her seat with stricken expression. Henry dropped his gaze back down to the desk, and it was quiet for a moment. Henry wasn't sure of what he could possibly say, especially because he had no idea what was going through Nancy's head right now, so he simply kept quiet. The safest option.

"I'm sorry."

Both Henry and Nancy snapped their heads to look over, even though Jonathan refused to make eye contact with either of them. Instead, he kept his gaze down as he spoke unprompted for the first time since they'd been brought in.

"I shouldn't have started that fight," he continued, picking at the desk, "I should've just walked away. I messed everything up and I got you arrested and… I'm _so sorry."_

It almost didn't matter if his words were true or not, because there was no denying how sincere they were. Jonathan _meant_ it. Whatever tiny seed of resentment towards Jonathan that was burrowed in Henry's chest disappeared, and when he caught Nancy's eye, he knew that they were on the same page. Nancy reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder—a comforting motion that Henry would've liked to mirror, but was unable to.

"It's okay," she murmured, squeezing gently.

"Steve's had that coming for years." Henry's voice was just as tender as Nancy's, despite what he said. Although, he was aware of the nature of his words if the small smile that pulled at his lips when Nancy softly scoffed was any indication, "Next time, just stop when the cops show up and we'll make a break for it."

"Next time?" Jonathan repeated, finally looking up and allowing Henry to see the faintest beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips.

"I saw you kick his ass, man," Henry replied, feeling lightest he had since he'd seen the defaced movie theater, "I just get the feeling whatever came out then is going to come out again."

"Well…" Jonathan said thoughtfully, "I care when someone hurts my friends."

Those words and the way Jonathan met his eye and smiled (a little hesitant and a bit shy, but very real), coaxed one out of Henry. A true blue Henry Sinclair smile that shined despite the circumstances—and for a moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Distantly, Henry heard how the door of the station opened, but he didn't really acknowledge it until he saw how Jonathan's smile slipped away and was replaced with a stony mask that couldn't quite cover the shame and anxiety underneath it.

Henry turned and felt something very similar happen to his own expression, although he knew that the whirlwind inside of him was a little different from Jonathan's. That made sense though, because Jonathan's good mood had disappeared because he'd caught sight of his mother, while Henry's…

Henry's smile had vanished because of the stare that Hopper had leveled on him.


	8. the state of teenage blues

WARNING:

There is something in this chapter that some people may find triggering or upsetting. I don't want to say exactly what it is here because it's an aspect of the story that's revealed, but if you scroll down the bottom, there's an explanation. So, you can decide if you want to look ahead and see what it is or not. I will say what it is _**not **_here though: it has nothing to do with abuse of any kind, or sexual assault, and it is not graphic. It's a one line reference to something that happened in the past, with some bigger implications.

_._

_._

_._

_._

_He sees you when you're sleeping  
__He knows when you're awake  
He knows if you've been bad or good  
So be good for goodness sake_

Judith wouldn't kid herself into thinking she had a voice anywhere near as good as any member of the Jackson 5, but she threw herself into it completely nevertheless.

Singing along with the radio was one of those things that always had her kids squirming in their seats uncomfortably (which was maybe why she liked to do it when she dropped them off for school). But, even though they would never admit it, she knew that they'd get into it just as enthusiastically as she did if they thought no one was watching. They were just getting to that age where everything their parents did embarrassed them, and that was okay.

Just like it was okay that her eldest was slumping in his seat like that.

Usually, her oldest son was the one who went along with it the most. When they weren't around other kids his age, he would join right in. He knew every word to her Aretha Franklin tape—the one Charles had bought her as an apology after a fight over socks—and anyone that ever rode in the car while it played _knew _he did. It was kind of funny, for all everyone groaned about the pain of raising teenagers (Pauline at the grocery store always gave her a pitying look when he came up in conversation), her thirteen year old was barely giving her any trouble.

Then again, maybe she was just a little bit more appreciative of her son. Not that she thought that other mothers didn't love their kids as much as she did hers, it was just that maybe… maybe she was a little bit more forgiving. Maybe she didn't notice the way hormones and growing pains made him a little rougher around the edges. And maybe… maybe it was because she almost didn't get to see him be a teenager at all.

What they'd done today had reminded her of that.

Judith reached out and turned the dial, flooding the car with even more of the upbeat Christmas music.

_Oh, you'd better watch out  
You'd better not cry  
Better not pout  
I'm telling you why_

On that second to last line, Judith reached over and gently squeezed her son's cheeks with one of her hands—halfway expecting her teasing gesture to make him break and smile, like it usually would. Or maybe he would whine a little, get annoyed that she was cramping his style. That would be okay too.

Instead, he just turned his head and pulled away.

Judith's cheery façade slipped for a moment, and it was quiet between them. But, just as quickly as it disappeared, it was back in place, and she was smiling when she turned down the music; throwing a sideways glance over before she spoke.

"You know, Santa isn't going to bring you any presents if you keep frowning like that," she said lightly, and it wasn't until a long and quiet moment had passed did she look over and see that her son was still in the exact position as he had been before; slumped in his seat and staring out the window with a far too serious expression.

"What? Not even a _"Santa isn't real" _for your Mom?" Judith tried again, lightly elbowing him and hoping that would coax out some sort of reaction.

And it did.

Or, maybe it didn't.

Maybe her words hadn't gotten him to say anything at all. Maybe he hadn't heard a single thing she'd said. Maybe the only reason he spoke now was because he had finally decided on what he wanted to say. Decided on whatever he'd been thinking about so deeply.

"I'm never doing that again."

It was said so simply that Judith didn't even register it at first—her son could've just made some inane observation about the weather, it wouldn't have sounded any different. It took a moment for his words to truly take shape in her mind and for her to realize what he was saying.

For it to hit her.

Judith's mouth went dry and her fingers tightened around the steering wheel as if her car would get away from her if she wasn't careful.

The doctors had warned her that stuff like this would probably happen, and… and she'd known from experience. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was the fancy term for it, but she didn't need to be a psychiatrist to grasp what was happening. When people lived through something so horrible, they were permanently changed. It was like any other injury—it healed, but it left a scar, and things could get a little rocky when they were reminded of it. They'd get upset, angry, they could even lash out. Even when they were doing better, even _years _afterwards, even…

Charles still had nightmares.

And now… now her _baby._

Judith took a deep, calming breath.

Now was not the time to get wrapped up in her own pain, not when her son was still looking out the window with that horribly solemn expression. She needed to remind him that he was safe and that that chapter of their lives was behind them, she needed to bring him back to the cheery boy she raised, she needed to…

She needed to be his mom.

"I know this is tough," Judith said finally, her low voice breaking the tense silence while her attention remained focused on the road (mostly because she wasn't sure she could keep it together if she looked at her boy right now), "I know that… I know that it _hurts. _But… We owe that man a lot. And even if it's hard to see him because it reminds us of what happened, we just need to remember that's past us now and… And that we're not doing it for ourselves."

Judith swallowed hard but pushed on. No matter how difficult it was for her to talk about, she knew that it was worse for her baby to _live,_ and she needed to get this out because of that.

"He doesn't have a family to spend the holidays with, or to exchange presents, or to watch Christmas movies. But, he's the one who made sure that our family will get to have that, and _we _can be the ones that get to make sure that he'll at least have some special pecan pie at Christmastime. We'll never be able to repay him for what he's given us, not really. But that's okay, because if we can make his Christmas just a little bit brighter, then he'll know how thankful we are."

Judith reached across the seats to grab her son's hand and she felt a rush of relief when he didn't pull away.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, baby?"

She finally looked over at him again, and found that his eyes were still glued to his shoes and that his expression hadn't changed—it was still as grim as it had been when she'd first noticed that something was wrong. But, he nodded nonetheless, and Judith counted that as a win.

She turned back to the road; feeling some weight off of her shoulders. Not all of it, it would never fully disappear, but she already knew that and it was light enough now that she could sigh out of something like contentment.

"So, I'm thinking meatloaf for dinner, what do you say?" Judith asked, ready to move past this and get back to the Christmas spirit that she and her family loved so much. But, after a quiet moment had passed, it was suddenly obvious that her son wasn't debating whether or not he could convince her to get pizza right now (he definitely could).

Her voice broke the silence a split-second before she glanced over and, maybe if it had been the other way around, she wouldn't have said anything. She would've realized that she'd misjudged the situation not moments ago. She would've known that this was far from over.

"Henry?"

His expression had changed.

But, it wasn't the face of the sweet and caring boy she'd raised. It wasn't that smile she just _knew _would break some hearts sooner rather than later. Hell, it wasn't even the miserable frown or angry sneer she would've expected from a child dealing with their past trauma.

Instead, when he looked her in the eye, she only saw one thing.

_Resolve._

"I'm not going to see Hopper again," Henry said, his jaw set and his voice unyielding, _"Ever."_

_._

"Jesus, what—what happened?"

With attention diverted, Henry slumped further in his seat, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible (no small feat for a guy his height). For the most part though, it worked, and his rapidly closing off body language went mostly unnoticed; Joyce Byers had the eyes of nearly every person in the station.

Except for the ones that mattered the most to Henry.

"Why are they wearing handcuffs?!"

Joyce's shout was loud enough to pull Hopper's attention to her, and Henry felt a sigh of relief leave him involuntary. Now that he was no longer being _stared_ at by the Chief of Police, he could actually breathe again.

"Well, your boy assaulted a police officer, that's why," Callahan replied, and Henry rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. Maybe it wasn't in his best interest to openly disrespect the cops that had arrested him, but they weren't exactly making it easy on him.

"Take them off," she demanded, Callahan opening his mouth to reply. But, he didn't have a chance to get out what was undoubtedly going to be a condescending no, because a new voice cut in.

"Henry didn't do anything."

The attention that Joyce had commanded not moments ago was easily moved over to Nancy, especially since she stood up. Suddenly, everyone was focused on her clenched fists and sharp voice.

"Nancy," Henry said lowly, trying to warn her, but the last syllable was barely out before she was speaking again.

"Henry didn't do anything," she repeated, a tinge of desperation to her expression as her eyes flitted back and forth between Joyce and Hopper, "He was standing with me during the fight—"

"The fight? What fight?" Hopper interjected with a furrowed brow. But, Nancy just shook her head harshly, like she couldn't accept anyone throwing her off her rhythm.

"Henry wasn't a part of it," her words were coming out a little wet now, a little faster, and maybe just the tiniest bit hysterical, "Neither of us were. We were just standing there because we didn't know what to do. But, they arrested him and not me. And, _you—" _Callahan took a step back with his hands up defensively when Nancy pointed at him, "_You_ didn't even _try _to catch Steve or Tommy and they-_they_ were fighting _and _they spray painted The_ Hawk_. You just arrested Henry and that's not _fair. _Henry didn't do anything wrong. He never hurt _anybody. _He's better than you are, _you fucking—!"_

"_Nancy!_"

Henry's voice honestly bordered on a yell, but maybe it was for the best; it stopped Nancy before that last, damning word could leave her lips.

For a second, Nancy was still, before it all seemed to sink in. Her eyes widened and her cheeks pinked, as if she just now realized what was about to come out of her mouth. She looked between each person around her, like she was trying to figure out exactly how many people knew what she was about to say, before she dropped back down into her seat and her gaze went to the floor.

The stifling silence stretched on for a long moment.

Henry tried to focus on the pattern of the carpet, but all he could really think about was the way his stomach was twisting in knots. He had no idea if anyone else realized what Nancy was about to call them, but even if they didn't know the exact word, it was blatantly obvious to everyone there that it was going to be insulting.

And yeah, they deserved that. They honestly deserved to be called something worse. _And _everything Nancy had said was completely accurate. But, Henry had a bad feeling that he was going to end being the one who paid the price for her outburst.

"That true?"

Henry's eyes jerked up off the ground as Hopper's voice shattered the silence. His question was relatively quiet compared to what had come before it, but it hit far harder. Just one look at Hopper's face let him know that his low words were the precursor to something much worse, and clearly Callahan saw it too by the defensive stance he took.

"Listen—"

"Un-cuff them," Hopper said simply.

"Chief—"

"Un. Cuff. Them."

All at once, any restraint that he'd been displaying before was gone, and Hopper's voice seemed to boom across the entire the station; leaving the room unsettlingly hushed in its wake. Even though he was basically the last person who would have this anger directed at them, Henry still felt his face go hot and he found himself sinking further down in his chair.

Callahan shrunk under Hopper's deadly glare (rightfully so), but before he could shuffle over and remove the cuffs, Powell stepped in.

"Chief." Hopper's scowl only made him pause for a second, "You're going to want to see something first."

Henry looked away from the scene unfolding in front of him to glance at Nancy and Jonathan, both wearing confused expressions similar to his own. It wasn't until there was a thump of something heavy on the desk in front of them did they look back over and realize exactly what was going on.

Henry's eyes widened and his back went straight before he could even consider moderating his response for appearances. They had found the box of monster hunting supplies he and Jonathan had put in the trunk of the Oldsmobile before everything with Steve. And yeah, that made him nervous; it was bad news for them getting out of this situation anytime soon. But, honestly his reaction was mostly because the idea of these guys digging around in his car felt _violating_.

"What is this?" Joyce wondered out loud, Hopper's frown deepening as he gently moved something around in the box and peered inside.

"We found it in Sinclair's trunk," Powell explained, something burning in Henry's chest at the accusatory look he sent him.

"You arrested me for no reason, and you _also _went through my _car?!" _He replied, Powell raising an eyebrow at his tone.

"Care to explain?" Hopper asked, dead serious as his attention turned away from the box and over to Henry.

Henry saw how Nancy opened her mouth to respond, probably with some sort of lie about camping or something. Or, maybe she'd just let the whole truth spill, he had no idea what her plan was, if she had one. But, Henry didn't really linger on it—he couldn't. Instead, all he could focus on was the way all the officers were staring at him expectantly, like they were just waiting for him to admit he was guilty of some terrible crime. And he couldn't stop thinking about the way Powell had looked at him when he'd gotten upset, as if his outrage was damning evidence, and not just the result of being treated like he'd done something wrong, even though_, _you know, _he hadn't!_

Before Nancy could say anything, Henry slumped back into his seat with a bitter expression fixed on Hopper.

"None of that is illegal, and I can show you the receipts from the surplus store. So, it's not really any of your business."

And, somehow, the words Henry had said at a volume that boarded on quiet left the room in a shocked silence just like Hopper's thundering voice had.

For a long moment, the station was still. Every single person was wearing an expression of complete and utter disbelief. Like they were waiting for Hopper to burst into laughter and let them know that this was all an elaborate prank, or for Henry to shed his skin and reveal that he was actually an alien. They looked like they were desperate for any explanation for what had just happened.

It was clear Nancy _wanted_ to say something; probably demand that Henry explain why the _hell _he'd just said that. But, she didn't do anything other than stare at Henry, and that was most likely because she couldn't find it in herself to do much more.

Henry didn't spare a glance. Not for Nancy, or Jonathan, or anyone else that was staring at him like he'd just grown two heads. His eyes were fixed on the man in front of him. He didn't look away from Hopper, even though he'd just said something so bold to a man known for his short temper. Just met his stare with his own sour and petulant gaze.

"_What_ did you just say to me?" Hopper finally said, his low voice horribly slow and measured.

"I _said_," Henry replied, his words _just_ as deliberate and thickening the tension in the air to a nearly unbearable heaviness, "It's not any of your business."

"Okay," Hopper replied after a moment, nodding a little bit, "You. My office. _Now."_

Henry rolled his eyes and a muscle visibly twitched in Hopper's jaw.

"You wouldn't even believe him if he told you," Jonathan cut in, his voice tinged with desperation. Whether it was because this whole situation was getting to him, or if he was just concerned for his friend, Henry didn't know. But, it was enough to pull everyone's attention off of Henry and to him.

Hopper frowned and his gaze flashed between the teens before he spoke; his voice coming out just the slightest bit less heated.

"Why don't you give me a try?"

.

He wouldn't stop _staring. _

There had been a reprieve—in the middle when everything had tumbled out—when Hopper's attention had been split between the three teens and the blurry picture of the monster. But, now… Henry wasn't checking, he wasn't looking up from where he was picking at the fraying threads on the chair, but he could feel it. He could _feel _the way Hopper was staring at him, like he was trying to figure him out. Like he knew there was something there that he didn't grasp.

Henry _hated _it.

Joyce and Jonathan were just loud enough that Henry could hear their muffled sounds, but not enough that he could decipher what was being said outside of the office. It saved the room from falling into complete silence though, so it was better than nothing.

"Nancy."

Both teens started a little at the way Hopper's voice disrupted the stillness the room had fallen into when the Byers had taken their conversation outside, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"Could you give me and Henry here a minute?"

Nancy's eyes widened slightly, and they flickered over to Henry, then to Hopper, and then back to Henry again. Henry chanced a glance over the desk and saw how utterly unimpressed Hopper appeared to be, but he didn't dwell on it—instead looking over at Nancy and nodding slightly, even though he really didn't want to.

He wasn't going to force her to directly disobey Hopper, no matter how _little_ he wanted to be alone with him.

Nancy sent him a sympathetic look, and gently patted his shoulder as she passed him on her way out.

The door softly shut behind her and Henry went back to ignoring Hopper's stare.

"I'll talk to Callahan and Powell. They shouldn't have arrested you."

"Okay."

The sound of the clock ticking seemed to echo.

The chair groaned when Hopper sat back in it and he audibly sighed, but Henry said nothing. He wasn't going to throw him a bone. He wasn't going to be the one who initiated anything. He hadn't been the one who'd asked for privacy, why should he be on the hook here?

Idly, Henry realized how much he hated this office.

"Your girlfriend seemed reluctant to leave."

"She's not my girlfriend." Was out of Henry's mouth before he could fully consider what Hopper had said. Before he could realize that the end of the sentence had curled up into a question. Not about Nancy, no—Hopper thought he knew that for sure. It was about something else. Something that made Henry's throat tighten uncomfortably.

Hopper just raised an eyebrow like he didn't fully believe him, but he dropped it.

"Are we going to talk about how you had that stuff in the back of your car?" Hopper said instead, and it took everything in Henry not to roll his eyes.

"Why would we?" He replied, more mumbling than speaking, "You already know why. And _again_, it's not illegal for me to have a bear trap."

"Okay," Hopper replied, his voice becoming a little bit more heated, "Are we going to talk about the _attitude?"_

Henry's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything—just slumped further in his seat and focused even harder on the stray threads. He could hear how Hopper's sigh was far more frustrated now, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"It might not be illegal for you to have the stuff in that box, but it's illegal for you to carry that gun that isn't yours." Henry's head shot up before he could stop himself and Hopper raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, I saw the boxes of .38s in there. I know at least one of you kids has one."

"Are you going to arrest us?" Henry asked, Hopper rubbing his face in irritation.

_"No," _He replied forcefully, letting his hands drop back down on the desk with a soft thump, "I'm just trying to make you understand that what you three got mixed up in isn't some game you play with your friends."

"I kind of got that idea when I saw that thing eating a deer," Henry replied, unable to keep his own slowly rising anger out of his voice. How dare Hopper think that they weren't taking this seriously? After everything they'd been through? After what he and Nancy had seen on the other side of that tree?

"This is a lot more than one monster," Hopper said, his voice getting louder and louder as he went on, "The Department of Energy is involved. The _government_."

"Do you want me to fake some surprise for you?" Henry replied, painfully sarcastic, "It's not going to be very good, because the government being a part of this too is the least surprising thing that's happened to me _all week_."

_"Can you take this seriously for a goddamn second?!" _Hopper said, slamming his hand down on his desk and making Henry jump, "They planted a fake body to get me to stop digging into Will's disappearance, and they'll do worse if you get in their way. A _lot _worse."

Henry dropped his eyes back to the ground—refusing to meet his gaze again after that—and the office was filled with tense silence for a long moment.

"Why are you telling me this?" He finally muttered.

"I am _trying _to look out for you," Hopper said, his voice notably lower and more restrained than before. Like he'd realized he was becoming too angry and was consciously pulling back. Like he'd noticed how it had made Henry retreat.

"Well, stop," Henry said, a muscle working in Hopper's jaw.

"Stop?" He replied, not nearly as loud as before, but just as heated, "You want me to stop? Just let you be stupid enough to piss these people off? This is _important, _Henry, do you understand that?"

"If this is so important, why did you send Nancy out of the room?" Henry replied, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before his eyes flickered up to Hopper, while his face remained angled down towards the floor, "Why are you telling me this? _Only _me?"

That question had the effect that Henry had been expecting and—after the pair held eye contact for a long, quiet moment (a challenge)—Hopper sat back in his seat; visibly displeased.

Henry smiled.

But, it wasn't one of those winning smiles that Nancy and Jonathan were learning to coax out of him. The ones that were always readily available for his family. No, this smile rarely made an appearance. It was something tighter. Harsher. _Meaner._

"That's what I thought."

"Henry—" Hopper said, putting his elbows on the desk and leaning forward. But, before he could get the next part of his sentence out, Henry was pushing himself up off the chair.

"Alright, I'm done," he said simply, heading towards the door before there could be any sort of response. But, he hadn't quite made it when Hopper's cool words cut through the air.

"So, I'm not allowed to worry about you throwing away your life? The one you're lucky to have?"

Henry's hand froze before it could reach the doorknob.

It was a long moment before he replied, but there was no way for Hopper to know if that was because he was debating whether or not to ignore what had just been said, or if it took him that long to remember how to speak.

"There it is."

Henry's voice was soft and low, but it traveled across the room and hit Hopper hard enough to force a frustrated sigh past his lips. Those words hung in the air for a few more seconds before Henry turned back around with his eyes glued to the floor and his expression wiped clean of the sardonic smile— replaced with something sullen.

He'd thought that maybe, when Hopper hadn't taken the first chance, that neither of them would bring it up. That it would just remain as the backdrop of everything they did—always there, but never acknowledged. That he wouldn't have to deal with _this _on top of everything else that was going on.

He just wasn't that lucky.

"… Listen," Hopper started, his voice heavy, "I know this is… _hard_. But, believe it or not, I have your best interests at heart."

"No, you don't," Henry replied, his voice thick as he shook his head and still refused to meet Hopper's gaze, "You don't know me. You—You're not my _father. _You don't know what my best interests are."

"Well, right now I think I have a pretty good idea," Hopper countered, far less sympathetic, "I don't need to be your dad to know that keeping you from getting yourself killed is a good call."

The steely countenance that Hopper had adopted not a moment ago became tinged with concern at Henry's reaction. A harsh inhale seemed wrack through his whole body like a sob, even though his eyes were only a little glassy, and his stare turned up to the ceiling as if he was trying to find anything in the room to hold onto.

It was suddenly apparent that Henry was _severely _upset.

"Hey, kid…" Hopper said, completely unsure of how to proceed. Or even what was wrong.

"I don't need this," Henry said, his voice quick but barely above a whisper, "I don't need you to _save _me from _myself."_

"That's not—" Hopper cut himself off and rubbed his eyes again, "This is bigger than any of us, and I'm just looking out for you."

"Because I'm the kid you pulled out of the Quarry."

Henry was the one who said it.

Henry, whose face screwed up when people made any allusions to the incident and always evaded any questions about the Chief of Police, was the one who'd said it. Sure, Hopper might've been the one who'd pulled it on stage, but Henry had just thrusted it into the spotlight. He'd been the one to bring it out of subtext.

Not because he wanted to though, but because he _had _to. After four years of it always being there in the back of his head, he thought it might actually kill him.

"Henry—" Hopper began, sounding tired.

"That's the reason, isn't it?" Henry interrupted, catching Hopper's eye and raising his brows in challenge, "That's why you think you have some sort of responsibility towards me?"

"I _do_," Hopper replied, his expression darkening a little when Henry snorted out of disbelief and turned away slightly, "Hate to break it to you, kid—I care a little bit about what you do with the life you almost didn't have."

"That's only because I was the kid whose life you _could_ save."

The moment that left his lips, Henry knew he'd crossed a line.

It was quiet,_ deadly _quiet. The kind of quiet that scared you a lot worse than anything the other person could ever say. Hopper just looked at him blankly, and Henry's wide eyes met his gaze before he found it in himself to pull away and focus his attention down at his shoes.

He shouldn't have said that. It was true, and he'd known it for a long time, but he shouldn't have said it.

"I'm not stupid," Henry finally said, desperate to break the tense silence, "I know the dates. I know you'd only been back in Hawkins for a few months. I—"

"Shut your mouth."

Hopper's voice was slow and cold, and Henry did as he said.

The deadly quiet returned, but only for a moment.

"I don't know what your problem is, but you'd better fix it before it gets you into a situation you can't get out of," Hopper warned in a low and even voice. But, when Henry offered nothing in return but a clenched jaw and a glassy-eyed stare aimed at the carpet, Hopper pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace; his voice quickly starting to rise and shake, "You know what? I'm _sorry. _I'm sorry for caring just a little bit about the kid who'd be _dead_ if it weren't for me. I'm sorry for feeling a _tad _responsible for your wellbeing."

There was that feeling again, like in the woods with Nancy and Jonathan. That heat that lit up inside of Henry and threatened to burst out like a volcanic eruption. Only this time, Hopper's harsh words made it move at a breakneck speed—threatening to spill over the first time he gave one of those scornful apologies.

But, it wasn't _just _because of what Hopper was saying right now, was it?

"Hell, you know what? I'm sorry for saving your life! I'm sorry for pulling you out of the water after your dumbass decided to play on the cliffs! I'm sorry for making you the kid who fell off the Quarry and lived!"

Hopper threw his arms out and yelled so loud that there was no way that anyone in the station _couldn't _hear him.

"_I'm sorry!"_

The rational parts of Henry's brain knew that he should just walk away right now, but they were no match for the fire that had been building up inside of him since the beginning of Hopper's tirade.

_"I'm not!" _

Except, _no, _that wasn't right.

Not just since the beginning of this tirade.

This fire had been growing inside of him for a far longer time than that. It had been growing unchecked for _years. _It had been slowly taking up more and more space inside of him, and had gotten so large and so strong that whenever _anyone _mentioned Hopper, it _burned. _And maybe Henry could've gotten it under control earlier and kept it down to a level that was manageable, but he hadn't, because he hadn't _wanted _to.

And now…

It had been growing for so long, and now there was no holding it back.

_"I'm not the kid you should feel responsible for, okay?!"_ Henry exclaimed, his hands curling into fists and his eyes threatening to spill over, _"I'm not the kid who you managed to save from some tragic fucking accident!"_

It had been growing since Hopper had asked to speak to him privately.

_"I'm not the kid you could save."_

Since his mother had made him deliver that pie.

_ "Because I'm not the kid who fell off the Quarry and lived!" _

Since the _first _time he'd heard how his name had changed.

_ "I'm the kid who jumped!"_

_"Don't pretend like the reason that you're miserable has anything to do with me, or Nancy, or Jonathan."_

The pounding in Steve's head seemed to get worse as he replayed everything that had happened in the past hour and half. Sure, the memory of the beating he'd gotten from _Jonathan _aggravated all of the physical pain, while the image of Nancy's hurt expression made everything inside of him ache, but _somehow, _what was really making his ears ring was the echo of the words that had left Henry's lips.

Henry fucking Sinclair.

Honestly, where did that guy get off? They weren't friends. He didn't know him. He'd barely ever even _spoken_ to him. Hell, Steve was pretty sure that yesterday in Nancy's garage was the first time they'd ever been alone together. And what had happened? Henry had _laughed _at him while telling some elaborate lie about why he was there so he could screw his girlfriend behind his back.

So, yeah, forget him. He didn't know anything about Steve, or how he felt, or his friends. He was just some douchebag who hurt other people because he was miserable. He was just the kind of person who laughed to be mean. He was just _projecting _all of his problems onto Steve. He was just—He—.

Henry_ fucking _Sinclair_._

Steve kicked a tire on his car (Carol didn't even bat an eye) before he huffed and sat down on the trunk.

Who was he kidding? None of that shit was true.

For starters, Henry hadn't been laughing to be mean. It was obvious to anyone who'd been there. The way Henry had laughed… He wasn't doing it to be a jerk, he just thought it was funny. Which was fair, it'd been ridiculous—those mallets had just gone _everywhere,_ then they wouldn't stay when he put them back, and maybe… Maybe Steve had hammed it up a little at the end there to keep him laughing. But, that was only because Henry had just been to some kid's funeral and Steve had figured he'd needed to be cheered up a little. Didn't matter. What did was that Henry hadn't been laughing to be mean.

Also, Henry wasn't a douchebag. Ask anyone at school, and they'd only have nice things to say. It was almost ridiculous. It felt like it didn't matter where Steve was, Henry would somehow pop up in conversation, and the reactions would all be the same: _everyone_ saying how great he was or how much they liked him. Steve would always play along and mutter something that fit in with the rush of positivity, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Not because he felt like he was lying, just… He didn't even know if he _was _telling the truth.

Steve had been right about exactly one thing: they weren't friends. They'd never really spoken to each other before, except for Nancy's garage and light small talk when a social situation called for it. They were barely even acquaintances, they didn't know each other.

And that didn't bother him.

Really, it didn't. It didn't bother Steve that the guy everyone thought was so great seemed to be completely uninterested in him. Who cared if Henry would rather ditch out on his girlfriend than come to a little get-together at his house? If Henry didn't want to be his friend, then he didn't have to be. Steve didn't care what he thought about him. Henry didn't like him, whatever. It didn't bother him.

It _didn't._

What _did _bother Steve was that they were acquaintances _at best, _they'd never spoken more than a few sentences to one another, Henry had never given him the time of day, but in the alley…

_How _had he known all that?

"You owe me a dollar-twenty."

Steve took the painkillers and the Coke from Tommy without a word—popping a few in his mouth and pressing the cold can against the only spot on his head that wasn't an open wound. It still hurt, a lot, but he could hardly find it in himself to care right now.

"Don't worry, he'll need more than aspirin when we're done with him." Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, and still Steve said nothing; far too busy thinking about everything that had happened in the alley. Trying to put together a puzzle he was starting to feel like he didn't have all the pieces for.

"Yeah, if the creep ever gets out," Carol added, "The cops should just lock him up forever. Did you see the look on his face?"

Even though Steve didn't spare a glance for the dramatic recreation of the fight happening to his right, her words had started to seep into his mind and they somehow began to fill in the blank spaces that had been leaving him stumped.

"He probably had that same look on his face when he killed his brother, right?" Tommy said, and for the first time since he'd plopped down on his car, Steve let his eyes slide towards other two. Only for a moment, though.

Just long enough to see the smiles on their faces.

"Oh, God. I just got an image of him making that face while he and Nancy are screwing," Carol said, playfully disgusted before she cackled along with Tommy.

Steve's face was beat halfway to hell and they were laughing.

Steve's girlfriend had maybe cheated on him and they were _laughing._

Steve was _miserable _and _they were laughing!_

_"Carol, for once in your life, shut your damn mouth!"_

It burst out of him before he could even really think about it, and in the quiet moment after—when Tommy and Carol looked at him with such blatant shock—he waited for a rush of regret.

It never came.

"Hey, what's your problem, man?" Tommy demanded, Steve's jaw tightening as a realization hit him.

He didn't regret snapping at Tommy and Carol because he _hadn't_.

It didn't really count as snapping when you'd been thinking about saying it for years.

"You're both assholes," Steve said, finally understanding that this was a bridge he'd been itching to burn, _"That's _my problem."

"Are you serious right now, man?" Tommy said in utter disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm serious," Steve replied, sliding off his car and taking a few steps away from them, "You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

"You _know_ what," Steve retorted, spinning around in time to see how Tommy's eyes lit up in response.

"You mean call her out for what she really is?" He replied, Steve's jaw somehow tightening even _more,_ "Oh, that's funny, because I don't remember you asking me to stop."

"I should've put that spray paint can right down your throat," he hissed, and as he and Tommy stared each other down, it occurred to him that instead of feeling like a squabble with a friend, this felt like a fight with someone who'd more than earned it.

"What the hell, Steve?" Carol interjected, and again, when Steve looked at her—his friend since childhood—all he really saw was someone who constantly made him feel and act _awful_.

"You know," Steve said, still angry, but also thoughtful, "Neither of you ever cared about her. You never even liked her, because she's not miserable like you two. She actually cares about other people."

"Oh, _god," _Carol said, letting her head loll back for a moment before she straightened out and looked at Steve with an incredulous expression, "You weren't actually _listening _to that bullshit Sinclair was saying, were you?"

Steve knew his silence was damning, but he couldn't find it in himself to deny the truth.

_"Jesus, _man." Tommy couldn't have rolled his eyes harder, "First you're saying Nancy should get a free pass on being a slut, and now it's that Sinclair was actually _right _when he gave that whole speech to distract you from the fact that he _fucked _your girlfriend. How pathetic can you _get?!_"

"Shut your _damn mouth, Tommy," _Steve replied, getting back in his face. Although, he wasn't entirely certain what part of that sentence had pissed him off the most.

"Or what?" Tommy countered, shoving Steve.

"Or I'll—"

Steve went to push Tommy back, only for him to grab his jacket and pin him up against the car. Steve's eyes went wide in shock, but all he saw in the expression of the guy he'd thought was his friend for so long (but was rapidly realizing was far from that) was anger and contempt.

"Or what?" Tommy repeated, his voice much calmer now; the steely kind that came from someone who was unafraid and wanted you to know it, "You gonna fight me now, too? Because you couldn't take Jonathan Byers. So, I wouldn't recommend that."

A tense moment passed—neither boy breaking eye contact—before Tommy let go of his jacket.

Steve considered it for a moment.

He considered throwing that punch. He considered knocking Tommy on his ass. He considered…

But, he didn't.

And it wasn't because he would undoubtedly lose, or because the idea of his busted face getting anymore hurt made him want to throw up a little. If that had been all it was, he would've done it. The way those would sting didn't outweigh the way his pride would. Those weren't good enough reasons not to.

The reason the little voice in his head (the one that wasn't completely someone else, but also wasn't entirely his own either) offered was, though.

_It's not going to make you feel better._

Steve set his jaw, but rather than knocking Tommy on his ass like he might've if this confrontation had happened this morning (except, maybe not, because he probably would've never had the guts if he hadn't been led to it), he just turned to his car; doing his best to block out the ongoing commentary.

"Here, let me get the door for you, buddy," Tommy said, slamming it hard and making it so the rest of his words came muffled through the rolled up window, "That's right. Run away, Stevie-boy!"

It still stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain that had been swirling in his chest since the alley. But, what _should_ have hurt—the fact that he'd had to break ties with people he'd thought of as his best friends—didn't even register. When he pulled out of the parking lot and peeled out into the open road and left Carol and Tommy behind him, all he really felt was resolve.

Only once they were specks in his rearview mirror did he allow himself to wonder where exactly he was _heading. _He'd just destroyed everything with his only two friends (a good call, but _still)_, and he couldn't have screwed things up worse with his girlfriend (if he could even _call _her that anymore). What was left? Who could he go to now? Hell, where to even _start_ with making things right?

No sooner did Steve wonder that, did the answer hit him.

_Henry fucking Sinclair._

_._

_._

_._

_._

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_._

SPOILER:

Henry reveals a past suicide attempt from when he was a kid.


	9. last in the box

The cops took his cigarettes.

It was the first truly concrete thought that popped into Henry's head.

Before, there had just been a mush of emotions without any real coherency sloshing around. If anyone could read his mind like in Lucas's comics (something that was feeling more and more likely), they probably wouldn't be able to decipher any of it. Henry certainly couldn't; he was just trying to survive the terrible waves of panic, anger, and misery that washed over him. He allowed his instincts to take over, and his feet led him past the averted eyes of the officers and out the station doors.

The moment the cool outdoor air entered his lungs, his mind started to sort itself out, and what it offered him was simple.

The cops took his cigarettes.

_That's_ what his brain chose to focus on.

Not what had just transpired inside the police station, not what had just happened between him and Hopper, not what had just wormed its way out of the deepest recesses of his mind and forced itself out of his _mouth_.

Henry dropped his face into his hands as the memories from just moments ago hit him again at full force.

The one thing.

The _one _thing he'd always sworn to keep to himself.

No one knew this. _No one. _Not Lucas, not Barb, not the fucking doctors that had set his broken bones. From the moment he'd woken up in the hospital bed decidedly _not _dead, and had looked up to see his mother crying over him, he'd known not to say what had really happened that day on the quarry edge. It was a secret, _his _secret, and it'd stayed that way; he'd never told a soul, and he'd never intended to.

And now…

_Now…_

God, he needed a cigarette.

Someone cleared their throat.

It was so soft that if it hadn't been coming from right beside him, Henry might've missed it. He was so wrapped up in his anxiety that he almost did. But, the sound was just enough to pull him out of his spiral and, when he raised his head, he was expecting to find someone hovering over him. But instead, his field of vision was completely occupied by what was directly in front of his face:

A box of Camels and his red lighter.

Henry looked at them for a moment as he processed what he was seeing, before his gaze drifted further up and he finally made contact with the familiar, gently concerned eyes that had followed him when he'd stalked out of the station not even a minute ago.

"They were in the box they took from your car," Nancy explained without Henry having to say a word, "I thought you might want to smoke."

Something like a smile pulled on Henry's lips, although it wasn't quite there yet, and he wordlessly took them. It was quiet as Nancy sat down beside Henry on the hood of the Cutlass while he shook a cigarette out of the box and stuck it between his teeth. It was only once he'd lit it and had a good long pull did he say a word; looking out towards the building across the street rather than over at his friend.

"How much did you hear?"

"Just that there was yelling," Nancy replied simply, "Mostly Hopper."

A shaky sigh escaped Henry, but he didn't acknowledge Nancy's silent questions, just stared down at the cigarette between his fingers.

That was better than them hearing. He knew that. What he'd said had only been heard by the man he'd spat them at. A man he suspected wouldn't tell anyone what had happened in that office, unlike everybody else in the station who had nothing better to do than gossip. Because if _they _knew, if _goddamn Phil Callahan_ knew, then they'd go around town telling anyone who listened that Henry Sinclair had tried to—.

It was better.

So why didn't he _feel _better?

"I'm sorry."

Nancy's words were just odd enough to jolt Henry out of his thoughts, and after a moment of trying to piece together what the hell that meant, he looked over at her with confusion clearly written on his face. Of all of the things that could've come out of Nancy's mouth, he wouldn't have guessed _that._

"For leaving you alone in there," she explained, shrugging a little and looking down at where her hands were twisting in her lap, "I should've—I should've known better. I should've stayed with you."

Everything that had happened continued to rest heavily on him, but Henry felt something inside soften a little as Nancy's words sank in.

"Don't be sorry," he said gently, Nancy looking up in time to see him shake his head a little, "It's… I didn't want you to stay in there. Besides, it wouldn't have even made a difference; he would've just yelled at both of us."

"Well, he's an asshole," Nancy bit out, enough venom in her voice for Henry to know that had been seething in her for a while—probably ever since she'd first heard the yelling. But, he didn't respond in kind; he wasn't vicious. Instead, he spoke lightly, like what he was saying was completely casual.

"Don't you mean pig?"

Nancy's eyes widened and she snapped to look at Henry with a shocked expression. He met her stare without hesitation, and for the first time since he'd laid eyes on Hopper, he was able to smile. It wasn't one of his special smiles, it was a little too small, a little too weighed down, but it was a smile nonetheless.

It was quiet for a moment as it sank in, but before too long, a laugh forced its way past Nancy's lips and she buried her red face in her hands.

"I can't believe I was about to…" She trailed off, and when she lifted her head again, the pink in her cheeks and the smile on her features hadn't disappeared. She laughed again, softer this time, and Henry couldn't help but join in. In hindsight, it was pretty funny, even though it had felt far from it when he'd frantically cut her off from (justifiably) insulting the cops to their faces.

The conversation lulled, but that was okay; Henry felt sort of comfortable.

He couldn't be _completely _comfortable; he hadn't been since he'd first heard that Will Byers was missing. But, he felt a lot more relaxed than he had in the past hour or so. Sitting next to his friend, laughing together, had softened everything.

But, then the silence settled, and the full weight of what had happened—what was _happening—_slowly started to press down on him again. The words he'd spoken not ten minutes ago rang in his ears, the knowledge of what he'd done, how it had all come out, echoed in his mind, and anxiety twisted in his stomach.

Henry raised the cigarette to his lips for another desperate puff.

His rapidly declining mood must have been noticeable, because Nancy's expression shifted into something that mirrored his. Something far less light.

"Henry…" She murmured gently, as if she didn't want to want to scare him away.

But, she didn't continue.

Instead, once the silence following her soft utterance of his name had fully sunk in, her hand slowly moved to find his.

And even though it took a moment, he closed his hand around hers without a word.

It was quiet.

Neither one said a thing, and if it had been just them, the silence might've stretched on for eons. But, they didn't exist in this universe alone, and the sound of the door to the station swinging open and the familiar drag of shoes against pavement was disruptive enough.

Although, it wasn't unwelcome.

Neither turned to look, but neither had to—they already knew who was walking across the parking lot to stand beside the car.

"Want to join the miserable monster hunters?"

Jonathan sat down next to him without a word, and Henry took that as a yes.

"Is your mom okay?" Nancy asked softly after they'd all had a moment of quiet together. Henry glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Jonathan's reaction, but he stopped after a brief second—the expression on his face was just making him feel worse.

"Yeah," he said after a few beats of silence, his words soft to keep his voice from breaking, "She's… She's fine, I think. Angry that I almost got myself killed doing something behind her back right after we had a funeral for my brother but, yeah. Fine."

Jonathan had that look on his face again, the same one he'd had when they'd been sitting in the police station right after the fight. Carefully curated blankness. The kind that could only come from someone who'd spent years perfecting it. Henry could spot it a mile away—he'd slapped a smile on enough times in his life to know what a mask looked like.

"Jonathan…" Nancy said, quite similar to the way she'd said Henry's name not even a full two minutes ago, although this time it was pretty clear that she meant to follow it with _something_. But, Jonathan just looked all the more empty and gave her absolutely nothing to work with.

Henry could feel the way Nancy was floundering a little, but he didn't turn to watch. Instead, he just studied the half smoked cigarette in-between his fingers thoughtfully for a moment, before he reached down and stubbed it out on the curb. When he straightened back up, his eyes were looking out towards the distance again.

They stayed there when he reached out and wrapped his newly freed hand around Jonathan's.

Jonathan tightened his grip without a second of hesitation, as if this had been what he'd been waiting for. Or, maybe what he'd been _hoping_ for. It didn't really matter though, because they'd gotten here regardless, and the three teenagers were quiet as they sat together on the hood of the Cutlass, hand-in-hand.

_"Hey!"_

All of them tore away from each other—feeling like they'd been caught in a compromising position—and whipped around to see the two familiar adults stalk out of the station.

Hopper didn't even look at him.

He looked different from how he had ten minutes ago, when Henry had stumbled out of his office. Sure, he'd been far more focused on _getting the hell out of there _to really pay attention to how his words were received, but he wasn't oblivious. Henry knew that, in the moment—when it had all come spilling out—the normally stoic expression of the Hawkins' Chief of Police had been replaced with something a lot more open. Something that let Henry see what the truth did to Hopper.

That was gone now, replaced with a familiar stony façade.

Henry didn't know if that was good or bad.

Either way, his throat tightened.

"Where's your brother?" Hopper demanded, completely focused on a teenager that was undoubtedly _not _Henry.

_"What?"_ Nancy replied, completely at a loss.

"Your brother! Mike!" Hopper's voice boomed across the parking lot, "Where is he?!"

"I—I—" Nancy stuttered, sending lost looks to her friends and only finding expressions that mirrored hers, "I don't know. Probably at home. Why?"

"Get in, all of you," Hopper said in lieu of an explanation, jerking his head towards the backseat as he wrenched the car door open, _"Now."_

Nancy quickly slid off the hood, even though she wasn't sure if her urgency was because she was concerned for her brother, or because Hopper had that kind of effect on people. But, despite the fact that she was moving fast, she didn't make it even halfway across the parking lot before she realized that something was off.

There was only one person beside her.

Henry had spent these moments lighting himself a new cigarette.

He hadn't shifted an inch.

He didn't even glance at his friends, just blew smoke and stared at his shoes. It was almost like he hadn't even _heard _Hopper. Nancy's brow furrowed and she looked over at Jonathan, but neither had any time to say a word.

_"Let's Go!" _Hopper interrupted, drawing everyone's attention to him with his thundering voice.

Nancy and Jonathan moved towards him without even having to think about it. But, Henry didn't seem to have the impulse to follow those commands like they did. The only thing that changed were his eyes; they weren't focused on the ground anymore. They'd found Nancy's instead.

"I'll follow," Henry said simply, sticking the cigarette in between his teeth and swinging around to pull the driver's door open.

No one had fully processed what was happening until Henry had disappeared inside of his car.

Nancy looked back over at Hopper, expecting for him to be enraged that Henry had just openly defied what was certainly an order. But, the only thing she found was restraint. Whatever he was feeling—anger like Nancy suspected, or maybe something entirely different—was hidden. Hopper ducked into his car without a word, and it felt like they'd rewound a few seconds and were watching it all again.

"Jonathan, Honey, come on," Joyce said, trying to bring everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. Jonathan took a step towards his mother without even thinking about it.

But, he didn't take a second one.

Instead, he looked at Nancy with those expressive eyes, and even though they'd only really known each other for a few days, she knew what was running through his head without him having to say a single word.

It was the same as what was running through hers.

They didn't say it, they didn't need to—they just moved back the way they'd came without paying any attention to the people they'd just turned their backs on.

In one smooth movement, Jonathan pulled the door of the Cutlass open, the pair slid into the front seat, and he slammed it shut behind them.

All of which caught Henry by surprise.

It was obvious by the way he straightened up in his seat and his eyes widened that he hadn't been expecting this at all, and it suddenly occurred to Nancy that maybe the reason he'd gotten into his car was because he'd wanted to be _alone._

Maybe it was less about wanting to be away from Hopper and more about being away from _everybody._ Maybe he needed some time to himself after whatever had happened in the office. Maybe she and Jonathan were intruding.

Maybe he didn't _want _them there.

Henry's eyes flitted between the two people squished into the front seat beside him, while Jonathan and Nancy waited for his response. Waited for acceptance, rejection, or (most likely) a wordless shrug—Henry was polite, he probably wouldn't tell them to get out of his car, no matter how bad he wanted to.

But, instead of any of that, or even just starting the engine, Henry answered their unspoken question in a way that left no room for confusion.

He smiled.

A true blue Henry Sinclair smile.

And Nancy and Jonathan were incapable of not smiling back.

"Ready?" Henry asked, a sort of energy to the way he spoke, like he was trying to keep it under control, but he was just too excited. It was just as infectious as his smile, and when Nancy and Jonathan replied, it wasn't just in unison—it was _enthusiastic._

"_Ready_."

.

_"You enter the throne room. You're surrounded by mountains of glittering riches; gems, coins, and treasures you couldn't have imagined in a million years. It's dazzling. It's awe-inspiring. It's perfect in every way."_

_"Except for the throne of itself."_

_"It's made of pure gold, with diamonds encased in it, and should be the perfect place for a King to reside. But, there's no one sitting on it. The King is nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only other person in the whole room is a man who stands beside the throne, wearing shining silver armor. He approaches you."_

They were breathlessly still.

No one could guess what would come next; they couldn't imagine who this man was or why the throne was empty. But, they all knew that it was important. That this would shape their futures, that this would likely alter their course forever. The anticipation made the quiet moment following those words stretch on for an eon.

Actually… It wasn't _just _the anticipation.

This quiet was stretching on just a _little _too long.

"I _said. _A _man_ who stands beside the _throne_. Wearing _shining_ _silver_ _armor_. He _approaches _you."

"Oh, right, sorry."

Lucas rolled his eyes, and couldn't help the unimpressed expression that took over his features as he watched his older brother stumble off the coach and pad over to stand beside the kitchen table. He was already in his pajamas, and he brushed some chip crumbs off of his weathered Prince t-shirt as he made his way over.

This wasn't exactly the dramatic moment Lucas had been imagining when he'd written this campaign.

"Um," Henry started eloquently, before reaching into his pocket and straightening out the piece of paper he'd pulled out of it, "Welcome travelers."

"I told you to memorize it!" Lucas exclaimed, outraged as he gestured towards the handwritten script his brother was holding.

"I was busy!" Henry defended himself, Lucas rolling his eyes dramatically before he gestured for him to continue, "Jesus, you do a guy a favor…"

"Would you just read it?" Lucas replied waspishly to Henry's muttering; around the table, Mike, Dustin, and Will exchanged glances and forced their smiles down.

"Okay, okay," Henry said, looking back down at the paper, "Welcome travelers, I am a Knight of Coldhaven—Lucas did you make up this name? It's _awful."_

One of the boys broke (no one was certain which, but it was probably Will) and it set off the others; their attempts to squelch their amusement failed and they burst into giggles. But, it was well drowned out by Lucas's groan.

_"Read_ _it!"_ He demanded, Henry muttering "okay" under his breath a few times before he started again. Although, now his reading was colored by muffled snickering—once the floodgates had opened, there was no going back.

"Uhhh, okay, right. I am a Knight of Coldhaven. I imagine you're here to see my master—King Thian—but I'm afraid that he's gone. Vanished in the night. We haven't been able to find him, and it's been many days. I have begun to fear the worst." Henry's eyes hadn't lifted from the script once, and every line came out stilted and unnatural, "Perhaps you were brought here for a greater purpose. Perhaps you will be the key to finding our lost King. Please, we are overwrought with fear—That's _so not _how that word is used."

"Okay, okay, forget it!" Lucas exclaimed, snatching the paper out of Henry's hands while his friends dissolved into laughter again, "You _suck_ at this."

"It's not my fault your script's _like that_," Henry replied, sounding the tiniest bit like he was personally offended by what Lucas was saying, "Carrie Fisher couldn't have sold those lines."

"I don't know, maybe it's just a miscast," Dustin interjected, his tone now pivoting to thoughtful as he brought his hand up to his chin and considered Henry, "I don't buy you as a knight."

"Hey!" Henry replied, his lips curling upwards a little bit—clearly not taking this one to heart. Maybe he just didn't care too much about what a twelve year old had to say about his likelihood of being a knight in a fantasy tabletop game.

"You gave your mom a kiss goodbye," Mike added, Henry making a playfully offended sound and putting his hands on his hips, "You called her '_Mama.'"_

"Okay, cool, anyone _else _want to tear me apart? Will?" Henry asked, but instead of piling any insults on top, Will just giggled behind his hands—only his bright eyes peeking out. Henry turned back to the others with his chin turned up a tiny bit, "Well, for your information, I could be a knight. I can be heroic."

"_Really_?" Lucas replied, his tone filled with complete and utter disbelief, "Name one time."

Henry opened his mouth to reply without hesitation, but no sound came out.

"Yeah, _exactly," _Lucas said when it became clear that Henry had nothing to offer, and he didn't shrink in the slightest under the glare he got in response.

"Besides, there's a lot more to being a knight than being heroic," Dustin pointed out, "Knights have to fight and kill people. They're total badasses."

"I'm badass!" Henry replied, his voice raising an octave.

It was dead silent for a single second, with all four boys looking at him with big, bright eyes and blank expressions.

The room erupted into laughter.

Henry made another insulted noise—this time a whole lot less playful—but it was completely lost in the cacophony of the four boys howling. Mike and Dustin laughed loud enough to reverberate, while Lucas's laughter was so hard that it was silent. Only Will wasn't completely losing it, and even he was giggling. Hell, in the living room, _Erica_ laughed along.

"Screw you guys!" Henry exclaimed over the ruckus, all too serious now, "You know, Mom left me in charge! I could _not _order pizza!"

The kitchen went quiet immediately and again, all four boys just _looked _at him with their big, bright eyes. But now, their faces were pictures of innocence.

Henry stood stiff for a second—desperately clinging to his conviction—before he sighed and his shoulders drooped.

"What toppings do you guys want?"

.

"So, this-this _girl. She's_ the one they're after?"

The cigarette rattled around in the box ominously before it hit his hand, and Henry sighed inaudibly. Part of him mulled over the idea of just sticking it back in the carton and saving it. Given how the day was going, he might need it later more than he did right this second.

"The government is trying to get her back," Hopper cut through his reverie, and his deep voice seemed to echo despite the coverage of trees surrounding them on this all but abandoned backroad.

Henry stuck the cigarette between his teeth and lit it in record time.

"And somehow _Mike_ is a part of this?" Nancy exclaimed, throwing her arms out slightly, but enough that Henry felt the urge to lean back so as not to get smacked.

"Witness puts them together," Hopper replied coolly, Nancy shaking her head disbelievingly, "You saw those men at your house and the helicopters—they're after them."

"This is insane," Nancy muttered, turning her back on the group and taking a few steps away. Henry didn't say anything—nothing _to _say—but he watched her with sympathetic eyes as he blew a puff of smoke.

Nancy had been struggling ever since she'd seen how her house had been taken over by some shady looking people in suits. She'd ranted about how ridiculous it was the moment they'd gotten back in the car to drive to a more secluded area, and just hadn't stopped. In fact, now that they were discussing what their next step was with Joyce and Hopper, she'd only gotten more agitated.

Henry didn't blame her. He was having a hard time wrapping his head around it too, but the evidence was undeniable: somewhere along the way, Mike had gotten mixed up in all of this.

Something knocked at the back of his head.

Even though he pushed it away and tried to ignore that it was ever there in the first place, a cold feeling filled his stomach, and not even nicotine seemed to help.

"We need to find them first." Hopper pulled Henry out of his thoughts and brought him back to the subject at hand, which was somehow a relief.

"Can you think of any place that he might've gone?" Joyce interjected, Nancy's eyes widening a little when she realized that was directed at her, "Somewhere your parents wouldn't know about?"

"I-_No," _Nancy answered, Henry hearing a sigh of exasperation from Hopper and visualizing his expression, even though he didn't turn to see.

"C'mon, Nancy, this is important," Hopper said, something rumbling in his chest as he spoke—the precursor to anger.

Nancy sensed it as well, and with her mouth slightly ajar, she visibly wracked her brains for something—_anything _that could serve as an answer. But, as the seconds passed, it became more and more obvious that she didn't have anything to offer.

"We don't really _talk," _Nancy finally replied, clearly distressed—overwhelmed by the situation and upset that she didn't know enough about her brother to help.

Thankfully though, someone else _did._

"I might."

Uneasiness flooded Henry as every eye flashed to him, but he powered through it. Finding this girl and Mike was more important than his comfort. Just like how it was more important than the horrible chill that ran through him when he admitted that he might know where Mike would run to.

"I'm not _sure," _Henry said, his gaze hopping from person-to-person all while avoiding the one he really should be speaking to, "But… Sometimes they hang out at the junkyard. They don't really talk about it. I mean, the only reason I know is because Will's bicycle chain got caught on something there once and broke."

"Will's bike chain's never been broken," Joyce replied, looking at him like she wasn't sure why he would even say that in the first place.

"Yeah, it was," Henry replied bluntly, "I know because I fixed it."

"Hey, hey," Hopper cut off Joyce's reply before it could even start (although, looking at her expression, she might not have had _any_), "Let's focus here. The junkyard?"

Hopper turned to look Henry dead-on, and it suddenly got a whole lot harder to push past his discomfort.

He knew, _he knew,_ how important it was to find these kids before the government did. But, with Hopper's eyes on him, all he could think about was what had happened back at the station. How it'd all gone down in the office. What he'd _said—_

_"Henry."_

It suddenly occurred to Henry how much Jonathan looked like his mom.

Joyce and Jonathan both had emotional eyes, and obviously felt things _hard_. Harder than most people. The only difference was that Jonathan tried to cover it up, probably a survival technique, while Joyce let it out for anyone to see. Maybe that's why he _hadn't_ been too prickly when he responded before, even though Joyce had distrusted him so blatantly that it was almost insulting—she set off the part of his brain that kicked in whenever he interacted with Jonathan and... and Will.

It seemed that the Byers were able to dip into a well of goodwill in him that he'd never even known he had.

And, maybe it was also why he didn't feel defensive or even uncomfortable when Joyce looked at him now, with concern written all over her features. Because it was familiar.

Because it was what had been in Jonathan's eyes when they had driven from Nancy's house to Henry's. When he'd admitted that he'd overheard everything that had happened between Henry and Nancy the night before. When he'd said it was _okay_.

Because it was what was in every scribble of crayon that made up the Invincible Teen.

Because Henry could tell it was genuine, it was _good_.

When he spoke again, he didn't answer to Hopper.

He answered to Joyce_._

"If I were them, that's where I would go."

The words lingered in the still air. Henry didn't look away from Joyce, and maybe it was partly because he wasn't sure he could stand to see how anyone else was looking at him right now, but also it was because her expression was gentle. Something he could use right now.

"Okay." Hopper's voice cut through the silence, "Go to the Byers, I'll meet you there."

He said it so simply that it took a moment to fully register in their minds. It wasn't until he'd turned away and started heading towards his car did any of them really comprehend it, and it took even longer to piece together some sort of response.

"Where are you going?" Joyce demanded, Hopper glancing back at her.

"To get those kids."

Everything Henry had been trying to push away suddenly burst to the surface.

It was like a dam broke—hitting far harder than it would've if he hadn't shoved it down in the first place—and he was forced to consider what he'd so desperately tried to ignore. And, what he feared would happen, _happened._

He realized that he was 100% right.

He could just continue to ignore it. He knew he could. It might not even _hurt _to ignore the very real—very _likely—_ possibility that had overran his brain. It might all turn out fine.

Or, it might not.

As soon as that crossed his mind, Henry moved automatically; dropping his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out under his shoe. He didn't even stop to explain, just grabbed his keys out of his pocket, shoved them into Jonathan's hands, and hurried towards the last place in the world that he wanted to be right now.

"What're you doing?" Hopper demanded, Henry pulling the passenger door shut behind him.

"If you show up by yourself, they'll get scared," Henry said, looking to see Hopper glare out the windshield with an exasperated expression, "The government is after them, why would they trust the chief of police?"

"And what? Mike Wheeler and this girl, you think they'll trust _you_?" Hopper countered, turning to look Henry dead-on.

Only, unlike before, it didn't stop Henry dead in his tracks—it didn't make him spiral as he relived what had happened. In fact, he didn't even think of it. The cold in his stomach was making everything else inside of him heat up.

"It's not _just _Mike, okay?!"

Hooper didn't immediately reply to Henry's snap, and it was quiet during the seconds in-between. What had built up in him not moments ago disappeared just as quickly, and Henry suddenly felt very tired. He sighed a little and raised a hand to rub at his face for a second—his focus sliding to the dashboard.

"What are you talking about?" Hopper demanded, a hint of heat to his own words, but Henry couldn't even muster up the energy to feel annoyed at that.

"If Mike's involved, then so are his friends. So is _Lucas," _Henry explained, his exhaustion bleeding into his voice, "They've all been acting weird. I just thought it was because of Will, but now..."

Henry allowed his words to trail off into silence as the weight of what was happening fully hit him.

His brother was a part of this nightmare.

And he hadn't been around to keep him safe.

He felt sick.

"They'll trust you?"

Hopper's words pulled Henry out of his thoughts, and when he instinctively looked over, he didn't find exasperation or anger like he'd grown accustomed to. Hopper's expression was even, and it was obvious that he was considering what Henry had said—he wasn't dismissing this.

"If we show up," Hopper said, looking Henry in the eye, "They'll trust you enough to come with us?"

This time, Henry didn't have to be so overcome with emotion to make eye contact; he just didn't feel like he had for the past four years.

He didn't feel like he needed to look away.

"Yeah," Henry replied, his voice low, "They will."

Hopper looked at him for a moment longer, like he was searching for something.

Either he wasn't able to find an excuse to send Henry off to the Byers with the others, or he found _exactly _what he was looking for, because when Hopper turned away, it wasn't to look out the windshield while he grumbled at Henry to get out.

It was to put the car in drive.

.

Usually, it was kind of nice when the kids were out of the house.

It was actually pretty rare that all of them were gone _and_ Charles was home. There was usually at least one underfoot, and even if they weren't in the same room as him and Judith, he could pretty clearly hear whatever it was that they were up to. And, when he _couldn't, _that usually meant he should start getting worried.

Not that his children bothered him _that _much—they were pretty good kids—but a guy liked to be alone with the woman he married every once in a while, and also some peace and quiet on occasion.

But, today… even though all the kids were out, it was just him and Judith, _and_ the house was quiet, he was far from feeling peaceful.

"Then he left. He just _left._"

Charles wondered if he'd ever gone for a drive at a more inopportune moment in his life.

"I mean, Barb being _missing? _He wouldn't lie about that, would he?" Judith said, a sort of insistence to the way she spoke, "And-And who would he let drive his car?"

"I don't know," Charles answered honestly, although it took him a moment, "I would've said only you and me, but…"

_But, now I don't know what to think._

It was quiet for a moment, and not in the way that Charles liked. It was a heavy silence, and Judith lowered her face into her hands in a movement that he wished he wasn't so familiar with.

"Judy, Baby," he murmured, getting up out of his seat and moving to the one beside his wife, "It's alright."

"No, it's _not_," Judith replied, the passion from before gone and replaced with what sounded like _helplessness_.

"Honey, he's just getting older," Charles said, wrapping his arm around her and rubbing gently, "I'm surprised it wasn't earlier. I was _way_ younger than him when I first started running off and scaring my parents. We're long overdue."

_"Charles," _Judith hissed, sending him a look before she sighed and the heat ebbed away again, "Henry's not like that. He's not like you or me, he's… He's always been a little different. And-And _sure_, he's kind of distant, but not like this. He doesn't sneak out or lie or act all _erratic_. He's such a _good_ boy, he wouldn't…"

"He wouldn't do this unless he thought it was important."

Judith's head snapped up in surprise, and Charles found that he felt the exact same way. Those words had come out of his mouth without them even consciously occurring to him. Just tumbled out, like it was natural. Obvious.

It was quiet as it sunk in, as they both grappled with the truth they hadn't been aware that they'd even known, and it was until there was a loud knocking that either of them moved.

Both jumped at the noise and looked at each other with wide eyes; it wasn't that odd for someone they didn't expect to be at their door, but in the moment it felt significant.

After taking a second to gather himself, Charles heaved up out of the chair and headed down the entryway. He rolled his eyes as another knock came—loud and insistent—and he muttered something about patience before he pulled the door open.

Now, Charles liked to think that he was a polite man. Said please and thank you, would give directions to anyone who needed it, and even if someone was on his front porch when he really wanted to be left alone, he'd always be amicable. At least greeted them, asked them how they were doing, tell them he wasn't interested in their version of Jesus, and then send them on their way.

In this moment, he did none of those things.

Instead, he just stared without even _thinking _of hiding how taken aback he was.

For starters, it was pretty clear that this kid wasn't a door-to-door salesman of religion or anything else. He was a white teenager probably around Henry's age, with hair that Charles knew was in style, but personally thought was silly. Charles knew he'd seen him around before (it was a small town, it would be weirder if he _hadn't)_, but he couldn't place who he was, let alone why he was standing on his porch. But, none of that was why he had forgotten all of his manners and stared.

What had stolen any words from his mouth was the kid's face.

He looked like someone had taken him by the hair and dragged him against the concrete, it was so bad. Whatever had happened to this kid, he'd gotten a thorough ass kicking, and something told Charles that the other guy wasn't faring quite so bad.

Charles hadn't seen someone this bruised up in years, and the fact that it was some unknown teenager who'd been knocking on his door had thrown him off kilter. He couldn't imagine what this kid was going to say (except maybe "Call 911"), but he doubted it would make this situation any clearer.

"Is Henry here?"

Well, if nothing else, he'd been right; that didn't make it any clearer.

It just made it _more _baffling.

"Um…" Charles offered, his brain taking a moment to kick into gear, "Nope."

The kid looked disappointed, but not particularly surprised, which made Charles wonder what the _hell _he thought Henry was up to right now. He then nodded in acceptance—the front strand of his hair bouncing with him— and there was a slight furrow to his brow when he spoke again.

"Could you—Next time you see him, could you tell him I'm looking for him?" He asked, Charles frowning a little; spotting an issue with this plan right away.

"I don't know who you are though, son," he pointed out, although he supposed if he said _"some kid who looked like he was hit in the face with a brick was around looking for you" _Henry would probably be able to figure it out. Especially since Charles was starting to think that maybe… _nah._

"Oh, oh right, sorry," the kid stumbled over his words a little bit, and Charles wondered if maybe he had a concussion, "Steve. Steve Harrington."

Now, _that_ rang a bell.

Harrington, that is. John Harrington was a business owner that Charles's work occasionally came into contact with. He'd never personally had to collaborate with him, but that was a blessing going off of what his coworkers had told him. Besides, he'd been aware of him in high school, and in the words of his darling wife, John Harrington was _"the biggest douchebag to ever walk the halls of Hawkins High."_

Speaking of his wife's opinions, there had been a Sandra Jenson in Judith's grade in school, who she still referred to as _"that piece of work._" Charles knew she'd ended up marrying into the Harrington family, that they'd had a kid around Henry's age, and that he'd probably seen him around town or at some school function. But, Henry had never mentioned him, so he'd never really had a reason to think about the Harrington boy.

But, here he was now.

Standing on his front porch.

Asking for his son.

With his face beat halfway to Hell.

"I'll, um, I'll let Henry know that Steve Harrington is looking for him," Charles offered, and the kid's eyes widened slightly, as if something had just occurred to him. He seemed a little slow on the uptake, but that could've just been the concussion.

"To talk!" He interjected hurriedly, throwing his hands up like he was defending himself, "Not anything else! All I want is to _talk_."

_No way._

Charles felt his jaw slacken the slightest bit, and he looked over the kid with new eyes. What had occurred to him earlier and had been quickly rejected suddenly popped back into his head. Because now_, _now that a kid who looked like he'd gotten his ass kicked—Steve Harrington (son of an acclaimed douchebag and a tiring social climber)—had said that all he wanted to do with his son is _talk, now _he wondered what exactly the alternative was.

This time, when Charles spoke, the words came out much slower.

"Okay. Next time I see Henry, I'll let him know that Steve Harrington is looking for him _just to talk."_

The tension in Steve's form dropped just a little, like it really was that important that the message he was sending Henry was clear, before he smiled a bit (or maybe his face just softened slightly) and nodded.

"Thanks," he said, and it seemed to occur to him about a half a second later to add, "Sir."

"Well, you're welcome," Charles offered, not sure of what else to say—if what he suspected was true, what _could _he say?

The kid offered one last polite smile before he turned, hopped off the Sinclairs' porch, and headed towards the car (a BMW, god Judith was right about these people) parked in front of their house.

Charles shut the door, and he was still for a moment, just staring at the square designs on the brown wood; trying to absorb everything that had just happened.

Finally, he headed back towards the kitchen, where Judith was still sitting at the table.

"Who was it?" She asked, her brow furrowing a little at the expression on Charles's face.

"You remember Sandra Jenson?" Charles asked, Judith muttering something under her breath, "And John Harrington?"

"Ugh," She said, her nose crinkling, "Why?"

Charles opened his mouth to reply, but he found that the explanation he wanted to give was nowhere to be found. He didn't even know what had just happened, not really, and he had no way of relating it back to his wife.

Finally, he settled on the only thing that was on his mind right now. The question that had been in his head from the moment a beaten up Steve Harrington had uttered the name _Henry Sinclair_.

"Our son doesn't get into fights, does he?"

.

"What now?"

Lucas's voice was low, and it shattered the uneasy silence that had taken over the bus once the helicopters had flown into the distance. Even he didn't know if he spoke quietly because he didn't want to somehow accidently alert the Bad Men (no matter how unlikely that was), or if saying it any louder would make it more _real._

Because, even without getting an answer from his friends, he knew they were all on the same, awful page.

They had _no_ idea what to do now.

"We could leave our bikes, go on foot," Mike said, ever the leader—always looking for the next step, "They won't be able to find us in the woods, and they wouldn't be able to see us with the helicopters."

"We'd never make it," Dustin replied, shaking his head slightly as Lucas grimaced a little at the suggestion, "Besides, even if we did, then what?"

"Get to the Gate," Mike replied, a little more heated now, like he couldn't understand why they weren't getting this, "Find Will."

Lucas and Dustin exchanged a look, and the silence that took over the bus felt far more loaded than it had been before.

Sure, they'd all _like_ to get to the Gate, go to the Upside Down, and find Will, but _how? _The Bad Men were looking for them and they were _everywhere. _Getting into their base would be practically impossible, let alone navigating to the Gate. And _finding_ Will in the Upside Down? All while the Demogorgon was lurking? No way.

And, if by some miraculous chance, they managed to pull it all off and bring Will home, _then _what? They'd still be fugitives, and the Bad Men would still be after Eleven. They couldn't go home and they couldn't bring _Will _home.

They were backed into a corner here.

There was no way out.

The helplessness that Dustin and Lucas were feeling must've been apparent, because Mike suddenly stood up with his shoulders thrown back, almost like he was offended by the fact that his friends were losing hope.

"Hey!" Mike exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips, "What did we do when we were trapped in the caves with that Mimic? And we hit a dead-end? Did we just give up?"

"The only reason we won that campaign was because Will felt bad," Dustin replied, Eleven's brows furrowing slightly as she tried to understand this alien topic of conversation, "He pulled some real deus ex shit. That's why he doesn't DM anymore, remember?"

"_And _this isn't Dungeons and Dragons!" Lucas interjected, hopping to his feet and throwing his arms out, "This is real life! If we mess it up, it's not our characters that get hurt, Mike!"

Mike looked at him with wide eyes before he slowly lowered them to his shoes, and even though he stood by what he said, Lucas couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit bad. It had clearly hit him harder than he'd meant it to.

Mike sat down heavily on one of the seats and rested his elbows on his knees—never raising his eyes.

"He made up a knight," Mike finally said, his voice weighing down the air in the bus, "He didn't want us to be sad."

Lucas's and Dustin's eyes dropped to the ground, and even though she didn't fully understand what they were talking about, Eleven was perceptive enough to recognize the tone, and her expression lowered a little too. The atmosphere on the bus was crushing as the four kids contemplated how badly screwed they were.

And, if the sound of tires on grass was any indication, it would only get worse from here.

They exchanged panicked looks before all four of them rushed over to the window; looking out just long enough to catch a glimpse of a car they didn't recognize pulling into the junkyard. They didn't even have to see the men in suits driving to know exactly who it was.

The Bad Men.

The kids ducked down behind different rows of seats and chunks of metal all while praying that they hadn't been seen. Lucas strained to hear what was happening, but Dustin's whispered expletives kept him from picking up on anything until he shushed him.

Once it was silent in the bus, they could all just barely hear car doors slam shut, but the sound of shoes treading on grass was too soft to be made out until it was frighteningly close.

Lucas held his breath as he heard someone stalking around the perimeter of the bus and the door squeaking as it was pulled open. He made eye contact with Dustin across the aisle, and both exchanged terrified looks, but neither made a move. All any of them could do was hope that the Bad Man would just glance inside and leave without looking any further.

But, they all knew that they weren't that lucky.

The step creaked and the entire bus shook a little as it accommodated extra weight.

Lucas couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut—a leftover childhood belief that if you couldn't see them, they couldn't see you.

_Just leave, just leave, just leave, justleave, justleave, justleavejustleavejustleavejustleave._

_"Lucas."_

Lucas's eyes flew open and before he even had a chance to think about it, he popped up out of his hiding place. He wasn't even afraid, despite the fact that he didn't fully comprehend what his subconscious had recognized so easily.

Brown eyes met brown eyes—the _same _eyes—and both widened at the sight of the other.

One pair in shock and one pair in relief.

Lucas couldn't hide his astonishment, and he wasn't even close to being able to say anything. To ask the questions his brain demanded answers to. Instead, he just stared with eyes as round as plates and his jaw slightly slack as his brain struggled to reconcile what he was seeing with what he thought he knew the reality of the situation to be.

If Lucas had been able to tear his gaze away, he would've seen that his friends were in the exact same condition as he was. Because they all knew enough to understand what was happening right now. To be shaken to the core by what they were seeing.

"Are you okay?"

_Henry. _Lucas's big brother, _Henry._

It was _Henry _who had found them in this junkyard, it was _Henry _who'd stepped aboard the bus, it was _Henry _who was looking at them with gentle, concerned eyes.

None of them even _tried _to answer.

He took a step towards them, but the bus started to rattle again before he could take a second one. All of the kids recoiled without even seeing who it was, but nothing compared to the way Henry reacted.

It was _Henry _who snapped to attention.

It was _Henry _who whipped around towards the door.

It was _Henry _who pointed a _gun _at the intruder.

And it was _Henry _who lowered the gun when he saw who it was.

"We need to _go."_

Hopper, _the Chief of Hawkins Police, _Hopper.

Henry nodded a little, and the pair shared a look that felt far more communicative than what _should've _been occurring between them. Lucas had _many_ memories of his brother evading Hopper as a topic of conversation, let alone seeing him in person. It had been like that for _years._ And now? Now they gave each other significant looks?

And somehow that wasn't the weirdest thing happening right now?

"What the _hell _is going on?!" Dustin exclaimed, the first of the kids to find their voice.

"What's going on is that we're _getting out of here," _The Chief's voice echoed throughout the bus, seeming to shake it just as much as their added weight had. But, despite his commanding presence, none of them made a move.

His parents and Henry had been warning Lucas to be wary of cops since as long as he could remember, but it wasn't just that. If it had been, then the other kids would've followed right after Hopper. They _all_ stayed in place, and there was a reason for that.

Hopper looked a hell of a lot like a Bad Man.

Sure, he wasn't wearing a suit, but he was carrying a badge. Not the same one, but in the neighborhood. And, if there was anything that any of them had learned since they'd first found Eleven in the woods, it was that they couldn't trust anyone even in the _vicinity._

Hopper sure acted like he was trustworthy, but so did a lot of people that weren't. Was it impossible that he was a Bad Man? Or, maybe he was just doing what they told him to?

It wasn't.

No one moved a muscle.

"Hey."

Henry's voice shattered the uneasy silence, but even though it was far calmer than Hopper's, it wasn't enough. Everyone was still.

Henry's eyes danced from each kid—without a hint of anger or frustration—before they landed on Lucas, and his worried expression suddenly softened. It wasn't an unfamiliar look, but it also wasn't something Henry wore all the time. It was private, the kind he'd have when they were alone and Lucas was telling him some story from school or about a problem the Party was having. Understanding, gentle, and maybe a tad indulgent.

And, even though it was directed at Lucas, it was familiar to all the boys—each had seen it at least once.

"I'm in your corner."

It was directed at Lucas, but all of them followed Henry off the bus.


	10. maybe together we can get somewhere

_1979_

_._

"Why are you up?"

Even though all Lucas could see was the outline of his brother against the moonlight, Henry jumped like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

It was late—late enough that everyone had been asleep for more than a few hours—but when a soft sound from his brother's room had caught Lucas's attention, not only did he find Henry awake, but standing. He was still enough that it was clear that he wasn't just between his bed and maybe the bathroom or something. He was fully conscious, and for a reason.

It suddenly occurred to Lucas that maybe he _had _caught him doing something wrong.

Thoughts of Henry's possible crime melted away when Lucas saw his older brother grab onto the desk to hold himself up and heard a pained hiss slide past his lips; a side effect of tensing up suddenly like that.

"Are you okay?" Lucas asked, instinctually rushing forward into the dark bedroom with his arms outstretched. But, he was barely out of the doorway when he came to a sudden stop—forced to freeze by the sharp response.

_"I'm_ _fine." _

Henry's fierce voice pierced through the silent house and left it oppressively still. It was quiet enough that it didn't disturb anyone else, but the reason it was soft was because any louder likely would've caused everything to shatter into millions of pieces. Lucas looked at his big brother with wide eyes, but didn't say a word. Even if everything in him _hadn't_ stopped due to the shock, he had no idea what to say to that.

He didn't have to break that heavy silence though, because after a few tense seconds, Henry let out a small sigh that did it well enough. Just like that, Lucas could breathe again. The air was still thick, but for a different reason now.

Lucas couldn't see his brother's face, but he recognized that faint sound that had come from him. The one he made when he thought no one else was listening; the one that had regularly followed on Lucas's heels as he was ushered out of his hospital room.

Tired, and frustrated, and _miserable. _

"Should I get mom?" Lucas finally asked, his voice coming out smaller than he meant it to. Didn't matter, though; he could tell Henry had heard him, and Lucas slowly began to edge towards the door.

Mom always knew what to do. It had always been the truth, but it had gotten easier to see in the past few months. It was mom who figured out what was best when it came to Henry, no matter how he was acting. When he and Erica and dad didn't know how to deal with his moods, mom always stepped in and fixed the problem they couldn't even see. She was the one who could make it all better. Usually, the _only _one.

"No."

Henry's voice wasn't sharp like before, but they cut through Lucas's thoughts like a knife.

There wasn't a hint of hesitation to it. It wasn't the kind of no that kids give when in reality they really _do _want their mom; it was completely solid. There was no arguing with it. Getting mom was suddenly out of the question.

The seconds continued to tick by in total silence as Lucas reeled and tried to figure out what to do now. He'd thought that this would be out of his hands; that it wouldn't be his responsibility anymore. But, now it was entirely on him. While he couldn't fix this, walking away would be even worse. Lucas couldn't soothingly coax Henry back to bed like their mother could, but he also couldn't just go back to bed and leave Henry alone to—to—

The hand that wasn't braced on the desk lifted up to Henry's mouth, and although Lucas could just catch a glimpse of a small spark in the darkness, it wasn't until he saw a puff of smoke did he realize what was happening.

Henry turned to look at him—he must've made a sound—but Lucas couldn't make out his big brother's expression in the dark. All he could see was the lit cigarette dangling from his fingers against the moonlight, but it was soon stubbed out on the sill and flicked out into the yard.

Henry lingered a little longer by the open window, before he walked away (Lucas unable to ignore his stiff gait) and collapsed down on his bed—the squeak of the springs doing absolutely nothing to ease the tension. For a moment, both Sinclair boys just looked at each other, even though they couldn't really see one another. They were both waiting (or hoping) for the other to break the silence.

"Gonna tell mom and dad?" Henry finally asked, his voice low and heavy with lethargy. It took a few seconds, but Lucas shook his head, only to be met with a sharp snort from across the room.

"Really, I won't," Lucas said, taking a few steps closer.

"Yeah, sure," Henry replied, not sounding like he believed that very much.

"I'm really good at keeping secrets," Lucas insisted, fully crossing the room and standing by the foot of Henry's bed, "I won't tell _anyone, _okay? I wouldn't… I wouldn't do that."

Again, his voice came out dreadfully small, but maybe that was for the best, because for whatever reason Henry didn't make another doubtful comment. Instead, he just looked at Lucas with a funny expression for a long moment before he hid it in his hands.

"I'm sorry." Henry's voice came out muffled, but also a little _wet_, and Lucas swallowed hard when he realized what he was hearing, "I know I'm being a dick right now. I _know, _but I can't…"

"It's okay," Lucas said softly after a few seconds of heavy silence, before he repeated something his mom had always reminded him when Henry wasn't in the room, "You just don't feel good."

Henry's hands dropped away from his face and revealed how tears clung to his eyelashes. But, that wasn't what hurt, not really. That wasn't what made Lucas's chest feel tight. What did was the look on his face. It wasn't scrunched up from crying, or even very sad, he just looked _resigned. _Like he was absolutely miserable, _and_ that he accepted it.

"Yeah," Henry murmured, although he didn't sound like he agreed very much with what Lucas had said.

It was quiet for a moment, to the point that Lucas wondered if this was Henry's way of telling him to leave. But, instead of finally just telling him to go away, Henry reached out and patted on his bed; a silent invitation. One that Lucas accepted with his legs crisscrossed on top of the duvet.

Still, neither said anything for a little while. Lucas had thought that maybe Henry wanted to tell him something—it seemed like it from the way he'd asked him to sit and the odd shine in his eyes—but the silence stretched on and he didn't seem any closer to actually spitting it out. All at once, Lucas felt the responsibility of saying something weigh on him, and he searched for anything that might make that awful look on his big brother's face disappear.

"It's—It's not so bad, you know. Smoking," he murmured, his gaze dropping down to his socks the moment Henry's eyes landed on him, "I mean, dad does it, and mom used to, so…"

Lucas's voice petered off, and his words felt startlingly inadequate once they were actually out in the air. But, he didn't know why. Sure, that wasn't an entirely inspired pep talk, but that didn't explain why it felt so _wrong_. Why it felt like he was trying to fix something without even knowing what the problem was.

"But, I won't tell them," he continued in a valiant effort to get this to work, "You can trust me."

Henry sat up.

It was so sudden that it actually made Lucas jerk back in shock before he realized what had happened. He looked up at his brother with wide eyes, mostly surprised that he'd managed to get up from lying on the bed so quickly without a single hint of pain on his features.

Either Henry didn't notice or didn't care, because he didn't comment on Lucas's expression. Instead, he spoke quickly, as if the words couldn't get out of him fast enough, and with a voice low enough that no one other than Lucas could've heard.

"I'm going to tell you a secret and you can't tell _anyone. _Not your friends, not Erica, not mom and dad. Okay?"

Lucas straightened up a little at his brother's urgent tone, and nodded hurriedly.

"Okay," he said, leaning closer before he repeated himself, "You can trust me."

And, for the first time since Lucas had caught him smoking by the window, Henry smiled.

"I know, bud."

.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Henry stopped in his tracks—turning away from the house and back towards the car with a small frown. He'd thought that they'd all been heading inside the Byers', but now that he looked he saw that Lucas hadn't budged from the spot of dirt he stepped out of the car onto.

"What?" Henry asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what his brother was talking about.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lucas repeated, sending Henry a funny look, "About Barb, and Nancy, and Will."

Henry knew his brother better than anyone else, and he could tell when he was finally saying something that he'd been thinking about for at least a little while. This wasn't like the confused bombardment during the drive between the junkyard and the Byers' house. And sure, Henry had answered those questions the best he could (although half the time the answers just led to more questions), but this was different. More important.

Henry sighed, and glanced away from his brother and out towards the dark woods as he thought it over. He wasn't sure why. He hadn't thought about it until now. He hadn't questioned why he never even considered telling Lucas what was happening, even though he knew that he would've believed him.

But, now that he was thinking about it, it was _blatantly_ obvious why.

"I thought it would make things worse."

Lucas's expression screwed up into something sour, and Henry realized that in his eagerness to tell the truth, he hadn't really thought about how it would sound. Lucas's posture hunched and he moved to barrel past him without a word.

"Wait, wait," Henry said, grabbing his shoulders and stopping him from storming into the house, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, what did you mean it like?" Lucas replied with a harsh tone and a glare that was clearly a desperate attempt to cover up the hurt in his eyes. Henry sighed again, but didn't look away this time. Instead, he crouched down to Lucas's height, and realized with a sharp tug in his stomach that his little brother was almost too big for him to do this and be at eye level anymore.

"I didn't tell you what was happening because I didn't want you to get hurt," Henry said simply, "On top of everything else, I didn't want to also be worrying about something happening to you."

"I'm not a baby," Lucas replied with a petulant lilt, "I could've helped."

"I know," Henry said, his calm tone a sharp contrast to Lucas's ire, "But, after everything with Will, after his _funeral, _I just… I thought if I kept all of this away from you, then you would be safe, and you wouldn't…"

Henry's voice trailed off, but he could see in his expression that Lucas knew what he'd meant. That the hurt and anger was starting to dissipate.

"Clearly I was wrong." Henry's voice came back stronger than before, and now there was a small, wry smile on his face, "You and your friends can get into trouble perfectly fine without my help."

Lucas giggled softly, and Henry's smile widened. That was enough; the Sinclair boys were back to normal. Or, at least, they were as normal as they could be right now. Maybe as normal as they ever would be after all this.

"You know, _you _could've told me," Henry pointed out after a moment, a quirked eyebrow cluing Lucas in that he wasn't actually that upset about it.

"How was I supposed to explain it?" Lucas replied, throwing his arms up a little, "We found a girl in the woods when we were looking for Will and she can move things with her mind?!"

"Well, how was I supposed to explain my thing?" Henry countered, his smile only growing, "I'm going monster hunting with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers?"

"Alright, alright," Lucas said, shaking his head a little, "Let's agree: next time, we just tell each other the truth from the start."

"Next time?!" Henry replied, straightening up to his feet and putting his hands on hips with an amused expression, "What do you mean 'next time?'"

"In general!" Lucas replied, frustrated in the way only his older brother could get him, "In general, let's just tell each other the truth!"

Henry threw his head back and laughed at the way those words had come flying out of his brother's mouth, and even though Lucas rolled his eyes, a smile found its way onto his expression. Instead of teasing him anymore (and he _knew _he could get him riled to the point of kicking his shin), Henry grinned and stuck his hand out to shake.

"Deal."

.

_Barb, The Upside Down, Eleven, Barb, Demogorgon, Barb, the Bath, Barb, Will, Barb, Barb, Barb, Barb—_

Henry's mind ran wild with the highlights of the past half hour on repeat. He'd thought he'd heard it all when Hopper and Joyce had told them what they'd been up to, but the boys had come in and blown it all away.

How the hell had the Wheelers not noticed a whole other person living in their basement?

It was overwhelming, and he would think it was bordering on insanity if he hadn't seen that creature with his own two eyes, but… it was also sort of a relief. Because, even though everything was nearly unfathomable, it was so much easier to understand when you had the full story. He and Nancy and Jonathan had their own pieces, Hopper and Joyce had supplied some more, and then the boys had finished it all off; the puzzle was complete, and now he could see the picture.

Fresh air helped too.

The Byers' front porch creaked under Henry's shoes and the cool wind gently rustled his collar. He took a moment to just breath—trying to get everything in his brain in order before what came next—and it was only interrupted when he spotted the boys struggling to carry a lump of a kiddie pool to Hopper's car. Henry smiled as he watched them stumble and snap at one another; it was almost like a normal day. Like he'd looked out the window into his backyard and saw the group trying to coordinate something and failing. But, before he could take too much comfort in the sight, he realized that it _wasn't_ like a normal day; there were only three boys.

There would be four again. Henry just knew it.

The Byers' porch groaned, but this time it wasn't because of Henry. He'd thought he was alone, but seemingly he was wrong. It was an easy mistake to make though, seeing how dark it was, and how _small _she was.

Eleven.

Henry didn't know what he'd expected when Hopper and Joyce had explained to him and the others about the girl that the government was trying to get back, the girl with _powers, _but it definitely wasn't her. Her borrowed pink dress was grimy, and her shaved head meant that there was no way of mistaking her for just another kid who'd gotten into the mud, but…

Mike swore and Henry looked up to see that two of the boys had stumbled to the ground; Lucas cussing out the others as he held up the kiddie pool completely by himself. Henry almost laughed.

Eleven giggled.

Henry's gaze snapped to her and, sure enough, there was the ghost of laughter on her features. She'd been watching the same mishap, and her attention stayed on the three boys with shining eyes that made his chest ache. Not out of sympathy for the girl who'd been through so much, though. But, guilt for how he'd been willfully ignoring the truth; far too focused on Barb.

Eleven _was _just another kid.

She was just a _kid_, and no w_…_

And _now…_

"You know, no one would blame you if you didn't do this."

Eleven jumped, looked up at him with wide eyes—she hadn't noticed him standing there—and Henry smiled in the hope that would be enough to keep from scaring her any more than he already had. None of the tension disappeared, but she also didn't go running, so he figured he might as well keep going.

"If you don't want to do this, you can say so," he offered, and watched as understanding lit up in Eleven's eyes, only to be overshadowed by confusion just as quickly. Like she finally understood the words coming out of his mouth, but not what he was saying.

"Will," she replied, her voice soft, "Barbara."

The guilt that had tightened his chest settled in his stomach, and he looked away from Eleven as he sighed.

"Still…" He murmured after a moment, before taking a few steps forward and plopping down the porch steps. It felt good to sit, even though he hadn't been on his feet _all _day. He was just… he was tired.

Henry turned to look up at Eleven with what he hoped was an open expression before he reached out and patted the spot next to him. He did it almost without thinking about it, and only after did he remember that Eleven might not know what the gesture meant. He didn't have to worry, though; she sat down beside him after a moment, and it was quiet.

"This Bath thing…" Henry finally said, breaking the silence with a slow voice, "You don't like it, do you?"

At first, Eleven looked at him without saying anything. But, after a few seconds, she shook her head and Henry let loose a breath from somewhere very deep inside of him.

He'd known. Of course he'd known. From the moment Eleven had uttered the words, Henry had known that whatever that thing was, she didn't like it. That it scared her. But, maybe he'd tried to ignore that, because he was too caught up in finding Barb.

There was no ignoring it now.

"I want to get Will and Barb back too, but…" Henry sighed, feeling Eleven's eyes trained on him before he even looked at her, "God, you're just a kid."

"I want to help," Eleven replied, her voice still soft, but a little firmer now. She meant it, and Henry didn't doubt that she was going to. It made him smile, but he knew that his expression was far from happy.

"I know," he said, feeling a little sadder with each second spent looking at the little girl beside him, "I'm just worried about you, kid."

"I'm strong," Eleven said, the simple truth that no one could deny.

"Yeah, you are," Henry replied, "But, you shouldn't be."

Eleven met his eyes with her own steady gaze, and it was quiet between the pair as they studied each other. She was going to do it, she was _always _going to do it, they both knew that. But, this conversation wasn't useless. Because, even though Eleven would soon be facing something Henry couldn't even begin to comprehend, a small smile began to pull at her lips.

"Let's go!" Hopper's voice boomed across the yard and grabbed everyone's attention. With the moment between the two of them over, Henry got to his feet; digging in his pocket for his keys and getting back into gear.

"Alright," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Who's riding with me?"

Henry saw movement in his peripheral, and when he turned he found Eleven hesitantly raising her hand. He raised his eyebrows—he hadn't been expecting her to actually _want_ to—but he also felt his face soften into a smile. And this time, he knew his expression wasn't so sad.

It was wiped off his face when he turned away from Eleven though, and was replaced with baffled surprise.

"I, um," Henry stumbled a little over his words as he took in how everyone but Joyce and Hopper had their hands in the air, "I can only fit five other people in my car."

.

"God, Dustin, get your elbow out of my ribs," Mike whined, jamming his own elbow into his friend's side.

"Move your knee," Dustin countered, knocking his knee against Mike's thigh in retaliation.

"Alright! Alright! Knock it off!" Henry interrupted the bickering as he swung his car in front of the gym doors, "We're here!"

Seven people spilled out of Henry's Cutlass and into the school parking lot; three teenagers coming from the front, and four kids out of the backseat. As they all got on their feet and stretched out a little, Hopper's truck pulled into the spot next to them and the two adults joined them on the pavement.

"Fill up the pool, get the kid whatever she needs," Hopper said, his voice effortlessly authoritative as he got right down to business and popped his trunk, "Henry and I'll get the salt."

It was said with such certainty that it didn't register at first. But, that quick moment passed, and Henry straightened up a little as he realized what Hopper meant.

Once Henry had won the argument about coming along, it had been painfully silent between them during the drive to the junkyard. The air had become heavy with everything that had been said before. It hadn't been fun, but there had been relief in their nerves, funny enough. Both had been too worried about finding the kids to care too much about the other.

After that, things had been a whirlwind of the boys demanding answers, the explanations at the Byers' house, and preparing for the Bath. Every moment Henry shared with Hopper had been filled with noise and distraction and, most of all, _other people. _It was hard to dwell on what happened in Hopper's office when they had a million other things to think about and everyone was pulling them in separate directions. Besides, it wasn't like Henry _wanted _to talk about it, and for the first time ever, it seemed like Hopper was on the same page.

Apparently not.

"I'll help you with the salt," Jonathan cut in, his voice a little jumpy as his eyes flashed between Henry and the Chief. Affection surged through Henry, and he looked at Jonathan with eyes that he hoped conveyed how much he appreciated it.

"No, help your mom," Hopper replied evenly, casually destroying any hope Henry had and not even sparing him a glance, "C'mon, we don't have all night."

Henry knew his expression had warped into something close to terror when he glanced over at his friends, but all Nancy and Jonathan could offer were helpless looks in return. He didn't know what he expected from them, but it was clear that it wouldn't matter what they said; this was happening whether he wanted it to or not. And he _really _didn't.

Hopper cleared his throat pointedly and the next thing Henry knew, he was following after him.

It was silent as they trekked across the school grounds to the shed where the salt was kept, but it wasn't the small blessing that Henry expected. Instead he only felt _more_ anxious; the anticipation of whatever Hopper planned to throw at him might be worse than what it actually was (not that he would know, since he wouldn't just _say it)_.

This job was mindless, and without anything to distract him from the fact that he was now alone with the man who knew _far _too much about him, Henry felt a growing sense of panic. But, even though the atmosphere hung heavier and heavier around the pair as they broke into the shed and got to work, it was still quiet except for the occasional instruction from the Chief.

It wasn't until they were in the middle of loading bags of salt onto a cart did either of them say anything other than what was necessary to the job, but Hopper spoke with such quick nonchalance that it didn't even stick out.

"You were swimming."

It took a moment for it to hit, but Henry paused with a bag of salt in his hands and frowned when it did. Was he missing something? Was he supposed to know what Hopper was talking about? Could he put together the meaning through context clues?

"What?" He finally replied, when it became clear that he had no way of figuring out what the hell that was even supposed to refer to.

"You were swimming," Hopper repeated, holding out a bag of salt and forcing Henry to drop his down onto the cart so he could take it, "In the Quarry, before I got to you—you were swimming."

Again, the seconds that ticked by after Hopper spoke were silent. But, this time it wasn't because of confusion. Or, maybe it was a little, but that feeling was easily drowned out by a strange mounting tension. It wasn't like before—it wasn't the simple expectation of confrontation, or even confrontation itself—it was something else entirely. Something still anticipatory, but also something far scarier.

"What?" Henry said again, only now his voice was much different, much quieter. Hopper dropped a bag of salt into his arms, but once Henry put it onto the cart and turned back towards him, there wasn't another ready for him. Instead, he found Hopper looking him dead-on.

"I don't think I could've pulled you out if you hadn't been."

The two men stared at each other for a moment as what Hopper was saying slowly started to wash over Henry, and he realized what that tension was. He'd been anticipating something alright—anticipating everything he'd tried to ignore being pushed right into the open. Anticipating being forced to consider what Hopper was presenting him, even though he'd rather be doing anything else.

Anticipation of having to face the facts.

Before he could say anything (although, who the hell knows what he even _would_ say), or really think about it too hard, Hopper was moving past him and grabbing the cart to push it towards the gym.

"Come on," he said, like the past minute hadn't happened at all, "Maybe they've gotten the pool up."

And, even though everything in him had been turned upside down by one simple sentence, Henry followed after him without a word; vague memories of icy water sending a chill up his spine.

.

It probably should have concerned Henry how easy it was to quickly push what had happened between him and Hopper down, but he couldn't help but feel like it was a blessing. Maybe it was because of years of practice repressing things, or maybe just the current situation. Either way, it was for the best. His attention needed to be on right now, not ancient history. It needed to be on the lukewarm water in front of him, not the freezing one in his memory. On the scared kid now, and not the scared kid then.

If not for his friends, then for his own sanity.

Eleven laid back in the water, and Henry took a deep breath—trying to calm his nerves. He felt almost sick with anxiety and it had taken all of his willpower to force an encouraging smile on his face for Eleven before she'd put her mask on. Although, he wasn't entirely sure why he felt _so_ bad. Was it fear for Eleven? Or of what she would find?

Or was it because of an odd feeling that was sinking in his gut?

A feeling that was almost like… finality?

"Barbara?"

Eleven's voice was so quiet, nearly a whisper, but in the silence of the empty gym, it was impossible to miss.

Henry's breath caught in his throat, and Nancy's hand slipped into his.

For a moment, everything was still, but that quickly passed. The lights above them flashed again, and Eleven's breathing began to pick up; Henry's stomach twisting into knots. He didn't want to admit it, he wanted to squash this thought all the way down until it was like he'd never even had it, but he couldn't. He couldn't ignore it.

Something was _wrong._

"What's going on?" Nancy asked, and when she got nothing useful in response, she leaned closer to the pool; her hand never leaving Henry's, "Is Barb okay? Is she okay?!"

Nancy's quickly panicking voice reflected how Henry felt, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't find it in himself. A cold terror had tied his tongue.

Instead, he reached out with the hand that wasn't in Nancy's.

Everyone around him tensed, and he knew he probably shouldn't be doing this—that it might ruin the delicate set-up—but he couldn't stop himself. It was an instinct, a habit. It was what he always did when one of the kids was upset.

Nothing changed when Henry took Eleven's hand in his.

She didn't snap out of the state she was in, the lights continued to flicker above them, and her breathing still came in short bursts. But, it was impossible to ignore that it was only a few moments after Henry's hand found hers that she was speaking again. Maybe it was a coincidence. Or, maybe it wasn't. It didn't matter, because somehow Eleven found it in herself to say the next two words.

Words that caused the teenager that was all but made of cracks to _finally_ shatter.

"_Dead_. _Gone._"

.

It was the perfect weather to have the window rolled down, and Henry was going to take advantage of it. It had been so hot all summer, and it was going to get cold fast, but he knew he'd have to tough it out no matter the temperature. It was only polite to his passenger.

Just like how it was only polite to give her space.

The air whipping past the windows and the wheels on asphalt were the only sounds that kept the car from complete silence. It wasn't that out of the ordinary for them—they weren't the type of people that needed to fill every second with noise. But, it wasn't comfortably quiet, like it usually was when the pair went for a drive; there was a heavy tension in the warm air.

The Cutlass flew past a simple brown sign that Henry didn't even have to look at to know exactly what it said.

_Leaving Hawkins  
Come Again Soon_

_"Good Riddance," _Henry thought to himself, even though he knew he'd be seeing the _Welcome to Hawkins_ sign within an hour. Didn't matter, none of it did when they got out of that town. He realized that maybe, one day, he might see the leaving sign, but not the welcome one. It was such a distant hope though, that he tried not to think about it. It was worth it just to be out for a little while.

Speaking of which, they were out of Hawkins, which meant…

_"What _does she see in him?"

There it was.

She was nothing if not reliable.

Henry didn't ask, he didn't have to. He knew what she was talking about; he'd known what was getting her heated from the moment she sat down in the passenger seat with stiffness in her shoulders. Instead, he let a few seconds pass by in silence as he raised his cigarette to his lips and mulled over his response.

"Is this a rhetorical question?" Henry finally asked, tapping his cigarette slightly so the ash fell into the street, "Or do you actually want an answer?"

Henry looked over at the girl beside him with an open expression, and only turned away when he needed to blow smoke out the window.

Barb looked tired.

That wasn't anything new, she was a long-suffering person by nature. And when she got upset, it really came out in her expression. But, still. He could tell it was worse than usual. Henry couldn't exactly blame her—she had every right. The whole situation was frustrating him and he wasn't even the one in it.

She lolled her head back onto the seat and groaned and, alright, _that _was a little dramatic.

"Actual question," Barb finally said, her eyes squeezed shut, "I want to know what it is about Steve Harrington."

"Well…" Henry said thoughtfully, "He's hot."

Barb cracked an eye open to glare at him.

"You know I don't even like the guy," he said, putting the hand holding the cigarette up defensively, "I'm just saying, objectively, as a person who is attracted to men, Steve Harrington: really fucking hot."

"Gross," Barb replied, but her lips pulled up at the corners. Henry didn't comment on it, he knew why—he knew how good it felt. How warm it made you feel inside to hear someone else talk about it so openly.

"It's not just that, though," Henry allowed, Barb's head lifting off the seat a little with a spark of interest in her eyes, "I mean, I don't think Nancy would be losing her mind over him if that was all it was. She doesn't seem like the type."

"I never thought she was the type to go for stupid, popular jocks at all," Barb countered, with a tone that was a little more biting than maybe necessary. Henry didn't hold it against her, he knew it wasn't directed towards him. He just pushed on, trying to give an answer that might help her understand why anyone would fall for a guy like Harrington.

"Steve's… _charismatic," _Henry finally landed on, "Even though he's an idiot and can be a real jerk sometimes, he's likeable enough that people will overlook it. That's why girls are into him."

"Not me," Barb countered, Henry glancing at her with an expression that all but said _come on, man, _"Not _you." _

"Steve Harrington's going to have to do a hell of a lot better than some smooth talking and fluffy hair to get me to like him," Henry replied, coaxing a small chuckle out of Barb.

It was quiet again, but it wasn't like last time. It wasn't heavy; it was softer around the edges. Familiar, but in a nice way. The wind still whipped past and the wheels still turned over the pavement. The sun was on Henry's skin, the air gently blew past him, and he was hit with the emotion you only get when you know this'll be the last real warmth you'll feel for a very long time.

"Henry," Barb said, her soft voice interrupting the silence only slightly, "Can you promise me something?"

"Whatever you want," Henry replied, painfully genuine, and Barb sighed in a way that seemed almost involuntary.

"Don't fall in love with your best friend," she murmured.

"Well, that's not a hard one to keep," Henry said casually.

"Oh?" Barb replied, raising an eyebrow even while her lips turned upwards again, "Why's that?"

Henry glanced over at her, with his own near smile playing on his lips, and the cigarette slipped from between his fingers and hit the road without any fanfare.

_"You're _my best friend, dummy."

.

"You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette?"

Nancy's voice was quiet, but rang in the silent hallway. It was so easy to hear how her words wavered, and the way tears clogged every syllable when they echoed in the still air.

"Fresh out," Henry replied, and he didn't even have it in him to wince at the way his voice sounded.

"Figures," Nancy snorted bitterly.

It was quiet again between the two of them. They sat a little bit apart, both with their backs to the tiger mural on the wall near the main entrance; Nancy with her knees tucked up to her chest, and Henry slumping with his legs sprawled outwards.

It was funny. He'd spent so much time in this building; he could make his way around it with his eyes closed. He knew where the good water fountains were and the best corner to face in the boys' locker room. But, right now, it all felt so alien. Like he'd never stepped foot in this place before. Like he'd unknowingly gone to the other side—to the Upside Down.

To Barb.

His head hit the concrete behind him with a thud.

Maybe he should've known. Maybe he should've been preparing himself for this inevitability from the moment Nancy Wheeler came to his desk that morning asking him if he'd heard from Barb. Maybe…

Maybe there'd been a turning point somewhere and he'd missed it.

He should've gotten out of bed and gone to Harrington's that night.

He should've just sucked it up and went to Hopper the moment he realized that something was wrong.

He should've looked for her when he and Nancy went to the Upside Down.

He should've done _something right._

Maybe things would be different if he had. Maybe it wouldn't have been too late. Maybe Barb wouldn't be…

There were a million things that Henry could've done, _should've _done, but he hadn't. And here he was: sitting on the floor of his school's gym, having to face the consequences of his fucking inaction.

He wanted his mom.

He wanted his mom to tell him what he needed to do; to figure out what was best. He wanted her to step in and fix the problem like she always did. To make it all better. To make it all go back to normal_. _Because that's what he really wanted. He wanted _normal._

He wanted to go home, he wanted to be in his own bed, he wanted to sleep without worrying about what might be in the darkness, he wanted to wake up tomorrow and for everything to be back to the way that it was, he wanted—he wanted—

_He wanted Will Byers to make it out of the Upside Down alive._

Henry's head lifted up off the wall as the realization hit him.

All of those things, he wanted them so badly, but none of them compared to _that. _He wanted Will to be safe more than _anything. _More than he wanted to go home, more than he wanted to not be scared, and more than he wanted his—

He could go home right now—he knew he could, no one would hold it against him—and he could try to ignore that any of this had ever happened.

He could keep sitting on the floor of this gym he hated so _fucking _much and just wait like everyone expected him to.

Or…

Maybe there were a million things that Henry could've done, _should've_ done, that might've changed things—might've saved Barb—but they were all in the past. There was no going back and changing what he'd done, no matter how badly he wanted to. He'd missed all his chances with Barb; he'd missed the moment where he could've turned the tide, and it was far too late now. But, something had just become obvious:

There was also a turning point for Will, and he was _in it_.

"Will's still alive in there," Henry heard himself say before he could even really think about it—just knowing in his heart that now was the time. Nancy looked over at him, tears still hanging in her eyes, but just as engaged as she always was.

"Hopper and Joyce are going to try to get him out," she replied softly, even though they'd been sitting side-by-side when the pair had stalked outside with Jonathan at their heels.

"I know, but…"

_I can't sit back again._

"The monster," Nancy said simply, her voice quiet as she put words to the fears that were swirling inside of Henry. He nodded, and the pair held each other's gazes for a moment; Nancy wearing an emotion on her face that Henry recognized in himself.

The front doors squeaked when they opened, but neither of the two teens sitting on the ground acknowledged it with their eyes or their words. Instead, they both scooted outwards from each other a little bit, and Jonathan settled down between them. It was quiet for a moment, Henry unsure of how to explain everything he'd realized and shared with Nancy in the past few minutes to someone who wasn't there for it.

"We have to go back to the station," Nancy finally said, and Henry knew how Jonathan's expression wrinkled when he turned to look at her, even though he couldn't see it.

"What?" He asked softly.

"To get our stuff," Henry expanded, pulling Jonathan's attention to him now, "From the surplus store."

"You still want to try the plan?" Jonathan said, his voice bordering on disbelieving. Henry looked back at him with eyes that he prayed expressed what he couldn't with his words. Maybe it worked, because something in Jonathan's expression changed a little after a second of eye contact. Not a whole lot, just enough for Henry to catch. But, even if that wasn't enough, Nancy surely would be.

"Your mom and Hopper are walking in there like _bait," _she murmured, the boys looking away from one another and turning to her, "That _thing _is still in there, and we can't just sit here and let it get them too."

Nancy's eyes caught on Henry's and just from looking at each other, they both saw everything they needed to. They were in the exact same place; they agreed completely on what they had to do. They knew that this was the only course of action for them.

But, it wasn't just that. It wasn't just conviction that they shared. It was also _fear_.

Fear that they would have to do this with just the two of them.

"What about the kids?" Jonathan's voice was quiet, and there was no tell to it. This could be that he was going along with their plan and was now turning to logistics, but it could also be his way of worming out of it. Neither one knew.

"If we can get it to come to us…" Nancy gave him a significant look, "They're safer here."

"And…" Henry started, his voice low as his mind replayed the summary of the last few days that the boys had given him, "And it seems like they can get along just fine without us."

Nancy snorted softly, and Henry could see on both of his friends' faces that his words had been a little bit more truthful than they were expecting. But, he knew they didn't mind. They never did.

It was quiet again as Jonathan mulled it over. Nancy and Henry knew that this wasn't something they could push, this wasn't even something they should be asking of him. In a better world, they would leave him be as he worried about his mother _and _his brother. But, this wasn't that world, and they couldn't leave him out of this. They couldn't do it without him.

Jonathan pushed himself up off the floor without a word, with both of his friends' eyes following him, before he turned and held out both his hands to haul them up to their feet.

"You think we can do this?" Jonathan asked as the three of them headed towards the doors, their shoulders brushing up against one another's.

Henry glanced at Nancy, and found her already looking at him. Again, they didn't need to say anything—they knew they were thinking the same thing. Only this time, there was nothing comforting about it.

"We have to try," Nancy finally said, looking to Jonathan. He didn't reply, but clearly it was enough, because he was the first one to step outside.

Henry was the last one through the doors, following on the heels of his two best friends, with the thought he knew he'd shared with Nancy ringing in his ears:

_I don't know if the three of us are enough._

.

Steve was starting to realize that he wasn't very brave.

He'd never really thought about it before. He'd never really had a _reason _to. But, he was pretty sure that if anyone had ever asked him if he thought he was brave, his answer would've been yes. He was Steve Harrington—King Steve— how could he _not _be brave?

But, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't really come up with any proof. Sure, he'd told off Tommy H and Carol, but how many times had he swallowed down those exact words? More than he could count. He'd spent years watching them treat people like garbage and he'd never said a thing. Even though he knew it was wrong. Even though he knew that he should.

He couldn't even say that he'd finally worked up the courage, because he _hadn't_. He never would've done it if he hadn't gotten a push. If there hadn't been a perfect storm. It had taken Nancy's hurt eyes to make him feel guilty, and Jonathan's punches to shorten his temper, and—

Yeah.

Steve was also starting to realize that Henry Sinclair was everything he wasn't.

If it was any other day, maybe he could've fudged it a little. He could say that he was brave because he was on the basketball team, and got into fights, and snuck into girls' rooms when their parents were downstairs. But, that didn't work when you saw someone being _actually _brave.

Henry had told him off without even hesitating. He'd just walked right up and said what he wanted. Steve never thought someone (who didn't have like, a pink heart medal or whatever) could be that brave, let alone _Henry Sinclair; _the guy he'd passed by in the school halls for his entire life. He hadn't been scared of them, even though he knew they all hated him; he hadn't second-guessed his words, even though they'd glared and scoffed; and… and he hadn't been mean, even though they were all mean to him.

Henry had gone up to three people that hated him and said what needed to be said without flinching.

And Steve couldn't even bring himself to turn the keys in the ignition.

He didn't want to do this.

When finding Henry was a bust, he'd come up with a plan to fix things. If he couldn't talk to Henry first, then he would just try and do it himself and hope that he approved when he finally found him. For starters, he got rid of that horrible graffiti. That was obvious, and relatively easy, and he'd felt sick to his stomach the whole time he did it. But, he'd done it. All that remained were his red stained hands.

Step 2 wasn't so easy, but it was equally as obvious.

He _really_ didn't want to do this.

Steve's head fell back onto the seat and he groaned a little.

He was doing it again; putting off doing the right thing. Sure, cleaning the marquee was a good start, but he couldn't pretend like he hadn't been stalling a little bit; that he hadn't decided on doing that first because it meant delaying the inevitable just a little bit longer. Because now—now he had no excuse. The graffiti was gone and he was _still _sitting in his car.

God, he really, _really _didn't want to do this.

Steve turned the key in the ignition.

He didn't want to do this. It was honestly the last thing he wanted to do. But, it was either this or go back to being King Steve, back to the guy that went along with Tommy and Carol no matter how bad they acted, the guy that Henry Sinclair had easily destroyed in just a few short sentences. He didn't want to be that person, he didn't want to hurt Nancy, or fight with Jonathan, or… or have Henry hate him.

He wanted to be better, and the only way he could do that was to go to the scariest place on the planet:

Jonathan Byers' house.


	11. strong, fast, and fresh from the fight

The bleeding had stopped, but it still hurt.

Henry hissed a little as the bandage rubbed wrong across the split skin, but he didn't pull away. He wasn't a child who shied away from necessary but painful things; he could handle a little bit of a sting. Besides, it was nothing compared to how it had felt when the knife had first dragged along his skin. All the adrenaline in the world couldn't distract from that horrible feeling.

Nancy sent him an apologetic look and taped off the end; letting go of his newly wrapped hand without a word.

"Thanks," Henry murmured, flexing his fingers and wincing a little before he looked up at his friends sitting on the couch beside him, "Oh, here…"

He reached out towards Jonathan—his hand hidden in a towel that was now stained dark red with blood—but Nancy beat him to the punch.

"I've got it," she said, a little too casually as she took Jonathan's hand in her own and began to unravel more bandage from the roll. Henry didn't get offended though—didn't even really question it—and instead he just shrugged and sunk back into the couch cushions.

He wasn't stupid; he knew what was happening around him. He knew what was underneath the surface of every interaction between Nancy and Jonathan. But, at the same time, he didn't really care. Even if they weren't surrounded by far more pressing concerns, if this was just a normal day and they were all hanging out together after school to watch a movie, he wouldn't care. It didn't matter. He'd _always_ had a hard time working up much interest in straight people.

Henry entertained the idea of shutting his eyes, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to do it. Maybe it was the anxiety over what was going to happen next, or maybe it was just because he knew that once he did there would be no going back—he'd be out instantly—it didn't really matter. Either way, his eyes stayed open, and he ended up just staring at the Christmas lights that hung above him, listening to the soft sounds of Nancy wrapping Jonathan's hand.

A faint creak made all three of the teenagers tense, and suddenly the weight of the gun resting in Henry's lap felt unbearably heavy.

"It's just the wind," Jonathan said, and Henry felt himself relax back down into the sofa at his soft but sure voice, "Don't worry. My mom, she said the lights speak when it comes."

"Speak?" Nancy asked, her frown audible.

"Blink," Jonathan explained, "Think of them as alarms."

Nancy didn't reply, and Henry had a feeling that his input wasn't exactly wanted right now.

"Is that too tight?" Nancy murmured after a moment.

"No, it's fine," Jonathan replied, stumbling over his words just enough that Henry was able to catch it.

Nancy lingered a little—even though she'd taped down the end of the bandage and her work was done— and it was quiet. The air was thick, but it carried something different from before. It wasn't fear anymore, not really, but still anticipatory. The prospect of something else weighed heavily in the Byers' house.

Something between Nancy and Jonathan.

Henry considered the possibility that they'd forgotten he was here.

It was starting to bother him a little that they were having this whole _thing_ like he wasn't sitting on the other end of the couch. As if he didn't exist. Or at least, didn't count. Like he was a complete nonentity when it came to romance. Again, he didn't really care about straight people, but that didn't mean he was completely detached from it. It didn't make being the only gay one at the party any easier.

But, this is how it always went, wasn't it? This wasn't really a special situation. If a straight guy and girl had to interact for any reason, nine times out of the ten, they'd be making _those _faces at each other within a week. Barb actually had a theory about it. She was convinced that heterosexual relationships had been built up so much that whenever any straight person in_ real _life found someone even a tiny bit attractive, they'd get it into their heads that they were actually soulmates like in a movie.

Barb had specifically used the terms "straight propaganda" and "delusions of heterosexual grandeur" when she'd explained it to him, and Henry had laughed so hard he'd cried.

She'd nailed it though, hadn't she? Not even three days, and already they were—_doing all that. _Henry probably could've called it if he'd cared enough to. He _definitely _would've if there had been anyone to share it with. Rolling your eyes was always more satisfying when someone else got to see it, and making comments under your breath was always funnier when someone else laughed. _God, _he wished Barb was—

Distantly, Henry heard Jonathan murmur Nancy's name, but it didn't really register.

The dull throb of his hand didn't either.

Everything that surrounded him faded away in the background, like a television turned down low as you drifted off to sleep. But, instead of being welcomed into a comforting rest on the living room couch, all Henry felt in that moment were waves of pain and shame that washed over him in equal measure.

He was so fucking selfish.

It should be that he hurt for Barb, for her family, for everything that they'd lost. And he did, don't get him wrong. The idea of looking either of the Hollands in the eye ever again made his stomach twist. But, that wasn't what really hurt.

He hurt for himself.

Because now… now there was no one to commiserate with when straight people were particularly embarrassing. There was no one to gush about Prince to, only to hear about Sigourney Weaver in return. There was no one to send a look to that said everything.

There was no one _like _him.

All alone again.

The only gay one at the party.

As quickly as everything around him had vanished, they were forced back to the front and center of his attention. The TV had suddenly been turned up to a blaring volume, and he no longer had the privilege of laying on the couch with his mind a million miles away. For a moment, Henry was certain that this was it—the monster was here, and they had to make their stand.

But, as his hand curled around the gun in his lap, the loud banging sound that had echoed through the house was followed by something that proved him to be _very_ wrong.

"Jonathan?! Are you there, man? It's-It's Steve! Listen, I just want to talk!"

.

There were cars in front of the Byers' house, and even though the windows were covered up, Steve could make out light coming from inside. So, if no one came to the door and he was left standing on the porch in the November cold, then they were _ignoring_ him.

He knew he probably kind of deserved that, but still. Come on. He was trying.

He listened for a moment, hoping to hear the sound of footsteps, and was sorely disappointed. He couldn't hear a thing. But, he knew they were there—it wasn't like they'd gone for a walk in the dark woods. They were probably being extra quiet so he would think they were gone and would leave.

And, there was a part of him that wanted to just accept that. Pretend like they weren't around and walk away right now, say he'd done the best he could. But, he knew that wouldn't be true, it wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be the kind of person he was trying to be.

Well, they might want him to leave, but it was _their_ turn to be sorely disappointed.

Steve raised his hand to knock again, defiant in the face of opposition (not answering the door), but he didn't make it that far.

He _could _hear something. It wasn't someone coming closer though, or even just somebody moving around in the house.

It was the faintest sound of a voice.

For a moment, Steve thought he might've imagined it. That his head injury was getting to him. But _no, _that was definitely the sound of whispers. The louder kind, probably an argument.

Yeah, he might be outside, but Steve recognized the sound of a hiss fight behind closed doors; he'd been hearing them for as long as he could remember.

The whispering stopped, and it was quiet long enough that he considered knocking again. But, before he could raise his hand to do just that, the sound of quick footsteps just barely reached his ears, and Steve barely had a chance to prepare himself for coming face-to-face with Jonathan Byers before the door swung open and he came face-to-face with someone decidedly _not _Jonathan Byers.

"Hey, Steve," Henry said, "You need to leave."

Henry Sinclair, standing there, like nothing was wrong.

Like he hadn't been the last person Steve had expected to see when the door opened.

Like he hadn't been the exact person Steve had been looking for all day.

Maybe he should've expected this. Or, at least realized that there was a really good chance of Henry being with Jonathan (they were friends, after all). But, he hadn't, and now here he was; staring at Henry without reservation, unable to register what he'd said as his gaze met steady dark brown eyes.

"Henry. Hi," Steve replied, before his brain finally kicked into gear, "Wait. What?"

"You _really_ need to leave," Henry reiterated, and now that Steve was shocked out of his stupor, he realized that the face that he'd been staring at was screwed up into a nervous expression; those dark eyes he just been caught up in were jumping around like something was _wrong._

But, Steve didn't know what. He couldn't tell why Henry was all fidgety. It wasn't like there was anything around him that might cause any prob—

_Oh._

"I'm not trying to start anything!" Steve exclaimed, defending himself against what Henry wasn't saying, but was definitely thinking, "That's not—I'm—I messed up! Okay? I messed up, and… I want to make it right."

Steve didn't expect for that to make everything all better, but he thought they might make things a little less bad. Might make Henry… Not _smile, _but maybe stop looking quite so worried.

It didn't work.

Henry's expression didn't shift into something more open, and he didn't say anything that might point to him at least starting to understand why Steve was standing outside the Byers' house right now. Hell, he didn't even look _less _upset_. _Instead, Henry's brow furrowed and he frowned a little, like Steve had just presented him with a problem he wasn't sure of how to fix.

And somehow, just like that, Steve's original plan went out the window.

Yeah, sure, he'd still apologize to Jonathan when he got the chance, but right now all he wanted to do was whatever it took to get Henry to stop looking at him like that.

"You were right," Steve blurted out, and it should be embarrassing to admit this, he knew it should be, but the floodgates were open and he couldn't stop. Not after it made Henry look confused instead of anything else. Not after the day he'd had.

"Everything you said in the alley was right, and it's kind of freaking me out because I don't know how you knew all that shit, but you did and now I'm trying to be better because I don't want to be that guy you were talking about, and it's fucking _hard, _man, I basically dumped my two best friends because you were right about them making me miserable, and I still don't understand how you knew that because you've always stayed away from me, which is another thing I don't understand because I don't think I ever did anything to piss you off before today, I'm cool, we got along fine in Nancy's garage, I think we probably could've been friends if you didn't avoid me, but none of that actually matters, because I'm trying to tell you that I'm _sorry_."

Henry blinked once.

Then a second time.

And Steve's cheeks began to burn.

Maybe it was actually a good thing Henry never really talked to him before yesterday, because clearly this guy _did _something to him.

Henry's lips parted slightly and Steve felt himself tense up in response; hoping that whatever came out of his mouth just wasn't _that_ mean. That he didn't just laugh in his face. But, he didn't do anything like that. In fact, he barely said anything at all; Henry pulled in a deep breath and only just began to speak on the exhale.

_"Steve…" _He said, his eyes shutting and Steve watching as confusion and concern all dripped away and was replaced with _exhaustion. _Henry looked absolutely _exhausted. _It was more than enough to distract Steve from the funny feeling that shot through his chest when he heard his own name, and instead he found himself desperately wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he'd done to make him so tired.

Henry put his hand out to lean against the doorframe, almost like he couldn't stay upright if he didn't have any support, but just as quickly he drew back and swore under his breath. For a moment, it was like Steve wasn't even there. Henry's focus abruptly shifted—the kind of tunnel vision that came from sudden pain—and Steve followed his gaze down to his hand.

For the first time since Henry had opened the door, Steve noticed the bandage.

"Hey, what happened to your hand?" Steve asked, and even though there had been nothing but casual concern, that quickly changed when he saw his reaction.

Henry's eyes widened, and as a panicked look took over his face, he moved like he was going to hide his hand behind his back. Like he thought Steve would forget what he'd seen once it was out of sight. Or, maybe he was just hoping once he wasn't directly looking at the wrapped up hand, he'd stop caring. Which was absolutely ridiculous; he _really_ should've known that this desperate attempt wouldn't work.

Like, he really thought that he'd even let him get that far?

Steve could hear Henry's breath catch in his throat, but he didn't let go of his wrist. Instead, he held on tight and tilted his hand a little bit to get a better look at the damage.

"You're bleeding," Steve said, clearly concerned as he took in the red stain on the material covering his palm.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," Henry replied, the words rushing out of him so quickly that Steve's eyes were drawn back up to his face.

He was in Henry's personal space now—it must've happened when he'd caught his wrist—and Steve could see all the ways his body was giving away whatever was in his head right now. He could see how Henry's eyes jumped around, completely unwilling to meet his; how his breath was picking up incrementally, like he was slowly panicking more and more; and how he pulled back a little, like he didn't want Steve to see _any of it_.

He was nervous.

No, no, that wasn't right.

Henry was _scared._

Henry was scared and he was trying to hide it from Steve and…

And, it finally occurred to Steve that Henry's strange behavior wasn't _just_ because of him.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked without hesitation, studying his face and trying to find the answer in his expression.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," Henry replied unconvincingly, tugging a little in an attempt to pull his hand away. Steve's grip only tightened, although never enough to hurt.

"Did someone do this to you?" He asked, his mind racing with all the horrible possibilities—all the people that might've done this to him—and ugly heat started to curl in his chest.

"What? No," Henry said, pulling again, this time a little harder. Steve still didn't let go.

"Then what happened?" He demanded. This time, Henry didn't have a reply. He didn't have an answer to Steve's question, even though he was certain that there _was_ one. Instead, he worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before finally saying—

"Steve, you need to leave."

—and pulling his arm back one last time.

Steve didn't let go. Not right away. When he heard those words, he straightened up a little; his eyes widening, but his shoulders going back as well. Because, all at once, the truth of the matter became very apparent.

Henry was trying to get rid of him because he was scared _for _him.

That anger in Steve's chest started to shift into something different. Still hot, still indignant, but now… Now there was something that Steve didn't recognize, even though he should've—he'd felt it just a few days ago, and he'd known what it was then.

This time, when Henry tried to yank his hand away, rather than just using his stronger arms to keep him there like he had been doing before, Steve used the movement to pull him towards the house; barging inside, ready to face whatever was hurting Henry.

Ready to break another camera.

Even though he'd enthusiastically stormed in, he wasn't sure what he was expecting to find. Honestly, he hadn't really thought about what he was doing beyond _"figure out what's scaring Henry and make it stop." _But, now that he was _actually _confronting what Henry had been trying to keep from him, he realized that whatever this was, it was a whole lot more complicated than he'd expected.

"Nancy?" Steve said, his eyes equally as wide as hers, "What—?"

His gaze danced around the room, and he felt his breath come in shorter bursts as he took in the house he now stood in. The fact that Nancy and Jonathan were there looking at him with thinly veiled terror somehow took a backseat to what surrounded him.

Christmas lights. That's what he noticed first. There were strands and strands of Christmas lights hanging haphazardly from the ceiling. And sure, maybe he could chalk that one up to the Byers family being weird, but that wasn't all. That wasn't what was _really _concerning.

That was reserved for the matching bandages on their hands. The smell of gasoline that wafted through the house. The bat with _nails _in it.

"You need to leave," Jonathan stepped in, a lot more demanding than Henry had been—trying to push him back towards the door, "I'm not asking, I'm _telling."_

Steve stumbled over his words, but he didn't let Jonathan shove him back outside. He planted his feet firmly on the ground as his attention jumped around the room; trying to figure out what the _hell _was going on, and how he could _stop _it. Because, he didn't need a clear idea (or really _any _idea) of what was happening here to know that something was very, _very _wrong.

"You need to leave!"

Nancy's voice cut through all the noise (i.e. Steve's own panicky demands for answers), but it wasn't really her words that made everything stop. If that's all she'd done, Steve would've had no problem ignoring it until someone gave him answers. But, that wasn't all. Because, now he wasn't being pushed by the door by Jonathan, now he was completely on his own.

Opposite of a gun.

"Whoa, whoa!" He yelled, his eyes wide at his girlfriend (or ex, depending on how you looked at things) pointed a _gun_ at him. He desperately looked over Jonathan, who had hopped right out of the way, and hoped that he'd find him at least looking as lost as he was. And sure, he was surprised, but not _confused._

"Steve, I'm sorry," Nancy said, her voice coming out thick through the tears, "But, I'm going to give you to the count of three to _get out."_

Steve's jaw dropped, but before he could reply, before he could talk some sense into Nancy, he suddenly wasn't staring down a barrel anymore. Not because Nancy had come to her senses and dropped it though, but because something had come in between.

Or, more accurately, _someone._

"Henry, _move," _Nancy demanded, sounding more exasperated than anything else, like Henry was just walking slow in front of her in the halls, and not standing in front of her target.

"Nancy, I know you didn't get any safety lessons, and that's kind of my fault, but you're _really _not supposed to point a gun at someone unless you're planning on killing them," Henry said, his voice steady, even though one small move from Nancy and...

And, just like that, it was clear that he was back to being the man he was before.

He wasn't nervous like he had been at the door. He was standing tall, and spoke with words so strong that they were impossible to ignore. This was the guy who had gotten Steve's attention in the alley, who had so easily rattled him to the core, and it was this guy who made his chest swoop now.

Also, he'd stepped in front of a gun for him, so that… that was pretty cool.

Nancy sighed harshly, and Steve could see from over Henry's shoulder that she'd lowered her gun back down towards the floor. He wasn't sure if that was because she was listening to what he'd had to say, or if she just didn't want to point a gun at _Henry_, but either way, Steve would _take _it. He didn't have a gun in his direction anymore, and that was good enough for him. Now, he just needed—

"I'll get him out of here," Henry reassured Nancy, as if he wasn't standing right here behind him, and Steve straightened up a little with his hands on his hips.

"I'm not leaving until someone tells me what the _hell _is going on," he snapped, which might not be the _smartest _thing to say right now, but was the truth.

Henry swung around—standing a little closer than he might've in a normal situation—and stared steadily at him, so very unlike the way he'd avoided him at the door.

At that moment, Steve realized that he had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Yes, you _are," _Henry replied simply, his tone leaving no room to argue.

Steve didn't think there was anything to really be worried about from Henry. _Really, _he didn't. He didn't think Henry would ever hurt him or point a gun at him or anything. So, with that in mind, he should feel fine right now. He shouldn't be worried about being forced out of this house before he got answers to what horrible things were happening here.

However.

There was definitely something about how Henry was acting right now that made him think he really ought to do what he said.

Steve shoved it all down, and did his best to ignore the way his body was trying to tell him to leave. Because, that's what this was. The knot in his stomach, the lightheaded feeling, the heat all over, classic fight or fright. But, he knew he needed to ignore that, ignore the way those dark, _dark _eyes were focused on him, and get them to explain what was going on.

"I—" Was as far as Steve got in his response—although it _definitely_ would have made _Henry _the one with legs that felt like jelly—before their attention was called away from one another.

"Guys…" Jonathan said, his voice trailing off—engrossed in something that Steve had been too distracted by Henry to notice.

The lights were flashing.

Henry swore under his breath, and it was suddenly like Steve wasn't there anymore. None of them paid him any attention, and instead went back-to-back and started yelling at each other about things that Steve really didn't understand. Steve couldn't even get himself to be annoyed about being ignored, because they were worked up about _something. _Something was _wrong_,and it really didn't feel good to be the only one who didn't know what.

But, that wouldn't last long.

Because he finally found out _exactly _why they were all so scared.

Why _Henry _was scared.

"What the _hell is that?!" _Steve exclaimed, stumbling back and watching with horrified eyes as a piece of the ceiling fell away and-and—

_Something _came through it.

None of them answered him. None of them even seemed to _hear _him. This was the most scared he had ever been in his life, and no one cared. Instead, they all focused on that-that _thing. _But, they weren't freaking out, not like he was. They weren't—They weren't _surprised._ They were facing this thing like they knew what they were doing. They…

They were _shooting _at it.

And, sure, it wasn't doing much, but Nancy _and _Henry were shooting at this thing like this was normal. Like they were _meant _to do this. They only stopped when Jonathan grabbed Nancy to pull her down the hallway, and she grasped Henry's hand to tug him along after her.

If this was anything else, if this was a _bear,_ Steve would've followed right after them—he would've had enough survival instincts to get out of here. But, this… this was something else _entirely, _and he found himself frozen in place; knowing he was about to be left alone with this _monster, _but unable to do anything about it.

It was Henry's turn to catch _his _wrist.

It took a moment for his body to get with the program, and he stumbled after him; practically being held up by how he was being pulled along.

_"Jump!" _Henry yelled, and Steve did as he said without even thinking about it; only realizing after the fact that he'd just hopped over a _bear trap._

Then, they were slamming a door behind them, and Steve _really _hoped that hiding in this bedroom wasn't their plan. Because whatever that thing was, it could get in here easily, he just knew it. In fact, he was pretty certain that _nothing _could stop that monster, and they were going to all end up _dead_. This was going to be how Steve Harrington ended; torn to shreds by a horrifying creature in the fucking _Byers' _house. Mrs. Byers was going to get home and find four dead teenagers like at the end of a slasher. God, what had he done to get here? He'd just been trying to be a better person, how was this fair? He was going to _die. _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh—

It wasn't until Henry spun around to face him did he realize he'd been saying that last part out loud.

"_Shut. Up."_

Steve's mouth snapped shut, and watched with wide eyes as Henry turned his back to him and pointed a gun at the door. The other three didn't seem to be scared like he was. They were tense, like they were waiting for something, but not anything _bad._ Or, it _was_ bad, but it was also something that _had_ to happen.

The seconds stretched on in silence, and even though he thanked god that that thing hadn't come barreling in here, it was clear that something was wrong. Steve didn't know what was supposed to happen, but he could tell just from the look on their faces that it wasn't going the way that they'd hoped.

Nancy reached for the doorknob, and Steve froze; his voice failing him, even though everything in him wanted to scream at her to _not. _The other boys didn't say a word—didn't even seem too worried about what she was doing—and instead they followed after her as she stepped out of the room. After a moment of weighing his options, Steve decided that being alone in here was much worse than being with the others out there, and he staggered after them.

They crept into the Byers' front room, and even though he knew he had _far _less understanding of what was going on right now, Steve realized what had happened at the same time as the other three.

The house was empty.

That thing was gone.

Nancy, Henry, and Jonathan were all exchanging looks that Steve couldn't begin to comprehend. Because, they _should _be happy that thing was gone. Actually, they should be freaking the fuck out because what the hell _was_ that, but Steve would accept relief. The monster was gone and they were alive; they'd gotten _lucky_. But, they weren't relieved. They were frowning and muttering and…

_Disappointed._

And, after everything that had just happened—everything that had happened since he'd seen Nancy, Jonathan, and Henry stalking down the alley towards him_—that _was what made Steve finally snap.

"This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy, This Is Crazy, _This Is Crazy!"_

Steve ran over to the phone and grabbed the handheld—going to dial 911 even though he had no idea what he'd say _("Come quick, there's a monster in the walls!")_. But, before he could even hit the first digit, it was torn out of his grip and thrown across the room.

"What are you doing?" Steve demanded, his words stumbling out of him and sounding less forceful and more pleading, "Are you _insane_?"

"It's going to come back," Nancy hissed in response, "So you need to leave. Right _Now."_

Steve looked down at the mild-mannered girl who had coyly rebuffed his advances in favor of studying not a week ago, and saw a woman with fire in her eyes holding a gun like she was meant to. She was utterly ruthless, with none of the gentleness that he'd grown used to. His face ached and reminded him of how just a few hours ago he'd been watching Tommy spray paint the Hawk with those horrible words, and how just a few minutes ago he'd been at the door apologizing to a man he barely even knew.

What the hell happened to them? What the hell was _happening? _What had made everything turn upside down?

"Steve."

Henry's voice wasn't harsh like it had been earlier, but just from looking at him, it was clear he wasn't close to the giggling teen in the garage. But, he wasn't the rival in the alley either, or even the nervous guy in the doorway. He looked tired, painfully tired. But, he stood tall just the same, with an expression that was far more determined than Steve could ever imagine feeling in this situation.

But, there was something _else._

There was something there, something that Steve didn't recognize. He could see it in his eyes, and hear it in the way he spoke, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Just go," Henry said.

And, maybe it was because of everything that had just happened, or because there was something about Henry that made him listen, but Steve felt himself stagger out of the house without even thinking about it.

The outdoor air was a slap in the face that Steve hadn't expected, but all it really did was make him pick up the pace. Being inside with others had been bad enough, but being out here by himself in the _dark_? This was torture, and there wasn't even a threat.

_That you can see._

Steve's keys slipped through his fingers and hit the ground.

He scrambled to pick them up, and in the time it took for him to retrieve them and jam them into the lock, the lights in the house began to flash again. Steve paused with his hand on the door; ready to leave before something stopped him. Nothing physical, nothing reached out and grabbed him, but his feet stayed planted on the ground as if someone had just caught his wrist.

He realized what he'd seen in Henry.

As his mind raced with everything that had just happened, everything that he'd just been through, it aligned with what he'd heard in Henry's voice, and it suddenly all made sense. He knew why Henry had been so sure when he'd sent him away; why Henry had tried to keep him out of the house altogether; why Henry had tried so hard to lie about his hand.

He was trying to protect him.

That was the only explanation that made sense. A nasty part of Steve—the part that was always miserable—wanted to think it was because he personally didn't want him there, or he thought Steve would mess up whatever awful plan they had. But, if that were the case then…

Then Henry never would've stepped between him and the gun.

Steve didn't think he was special—anyone could've pulled up to the Byers' house and Henry would've done the exact same thing—but the realization still hit him like a freight train. Henry was trying to keep him from getting hurt. He hadn't convinced him to leave because he hated him, or needed him out of the way, or… or…

_Shit._

Henry had told him to leave because he was trying to keep him safe, _not_ because he thought that they could handle what was happening right now.

Steve looked up to the house again, and suddenly the feelings of fear and panic that had been pushing him to get into his car and go _far away_ from here were overridden with something different. Something that made him slam the door shut without ever sliding inside. Something that had been driving Henry from the moment he'd told him to leave.

Something that had surged in Steve when he saw the cut on Henry's hand.

.

Henry's hand throbbed, but that didn't stop him from gripping his gun impossibly tight. He barely even noticed the pain as he spun in circles and searched frantically for what he knew was coming.

Each moment that passed without anything changing except for the lights just made the anticipation grow worse and worse. Between the flickers of the Christmas lights—when the house was dark—Henry could feel his heart in his throat; always expecting for the light to return only for the Demogorgon to be looming over him.

"Where is it?" Nancy called out, the panic clear in her voice.

"I don't know!" Jonathan replied, and although he had nothing to add, Henry pressed against them a little bit, just for the reminder that he had two people watching his back right now.

The room went dark again, and Henry's pulse seemed to echo in his own head.

_"Jonathan!"_

Nancy's sharp cry sent sharp stabs of fear through Henry, and he whirled around in time to see the monster rise up behind Jonathan before sending him crashing to the ground—his bat clattering against the floor. For a moment, all Henry could do was watch in horror as the creature crouched over his friend; half-expecting to see Jonathan get torn apart by those horrible teeth.

It took gunshots ringing through the air to remind him that he wasn't a helpless bystander.

_"Go to Hell, You Son of a Bitch!" _Nancy shouted, spurred on by righteous rage.

If intentions equaled action, then the Demogorgon would've been dead from the moment Nancy had turned her venomous glare onto it. But, that wasn't the way the world worked, and not even bullets seemed to have any effect on the monster. All it had done was take the attention off of Jonathan and turn it onto her. A good thing, until the click of the gun reached Henry's ears and it was clear that there were no more rounds to fire.

At least, no more for _Nancy _to fire.

Without thinking—without considering what the consequences might be—Henry did the only thing that could stop the monster from attacking Nancy.

He brought all of its attention to himself.

He accomplished his goal, he kept the monster from hurting his friend, but each time he fired the gun, it felt like another nail in his own casket. He wasn't stupid enough to think that his bullets would work when Nancy's didn't, but _god _he'd hoped.

Finally, the dreaded clicking sound reached his ears, and when his back hit the wall he realized that he'd stupidly boxed himself in. There was nowhere to run, and now he had absolutely no way of defending himself. The Demogorgon loomed over him, and Henry was unable to see anything other than the thing that had murdered his best friend.

The thing that was going to murder him.

A part of him accepted that this was it; the universe was finally finishing what he'd started four years ago. He wouldn't have jumped off the Quarry in the first place if there wasn't a part of him that was willing to die. But, it was so much smaller than he remembered it. Almost like it wasn't there at all. He barely even noticed it; it was drowned out by the rest.

He didn't want to die.

That realization was a little belated, seeing how he was pretty sure that was about to happen.

Henry winced back and held his arms up over his face in one last ditch attempt to protect himself, even though he was certain it wouldn't make a difference. His body tensed; getting ready for whatever horrible thing that was about to happen.

But, instead of the creature's claws digging into his skin or its teeth sinking into his chest, Henry heard a series of sounds that didn't quite match what he'd been expecting.

A dull thunk, a screeching cry, and an astonished exclamation from Nancy.

_"Steve!"_

Henry lowered his hands in time to see Steve _(King Steve. The Hair Harrington. The biggest douchebag to ever walk the halls of Hawkins High. The guy who fumbled with croquet sets)_ Harrington slam the nailed bat into the side of the monster for a second time.

Henry stayed with his back flat against the wall; watching with wide eyes as Steve did far more damage with the bat than he and Nancy had with their guns. It wasn't like he was beating him to _death, _but the monster squealed every time he hit it, and Henry was close enough to see how Steve had to really _pull _to dislodge the nails.

Less than five minutes ago, Steve had tripped over his own feet trying to get out of this house.

And now…

_Snap!_

"It's in the trap!"

All at once, Henry was brought back to reality, and he dug in his pocket for his red lighter; pausing for only a moment by Steve's side before he threw the light onto the carpet and watched the monster go up in flames.

The pair jerked back at the high pitched sounds coming from the creature, but neither one looked away from the horrific scene they'd created. Henry didn't think of himself as a violent or sadistic person. In fact, he was certain that everyone in his life (that _hadn't _spent the last few days with him) could agree that he was a complete nonthreat; too sweet to even _listen_ to the stories of local hunters.

But, right now? Watching that _thing _writhe in agony?

All he felt was twisted satisfaction.

_That one's for you, Barb._

"Get out of the way!"

Henry and Steve stumbled back as Jonathan pushed his way in and used the extinguisher; all of them coughing harshly as the room flooded with chemicals and smoke. Henry tried to cover his mouth with his sleeve as he peered down the hallway, but it was difficult to see much of anything now that the fire was out.

Except for the fact that the monster was no longer in the trap.

"Is it…?" Nancy didn't even finish her question as the four of them slowly creeped closer to where the Demogorgon had been burning just moments earlier.

"It has to be dead," Jonathan said simply, although he didn't sound so sure. Henry wanted to believe what he'd said, but he wasn't convinced either. He knew that he and his friends were all thinking the same thing; if there was anything that could survive being set on fire like that, it was that monster.

The Christmas light above them flicked on.

Henry's breath caught his throat and, without even thinking, he reached out and grabbed Steve's arm.

He might've been embarrassed—pulled back and pretended like he'd never done that—if it weren't for the fact that the lights continued to click on, and his stomach filled with dread as all the horrible possibilities of what was happening popped into his head. There were far more pressing things than the unfortunate fact that Henry's instinctive reaction to sudden fear was to find the nearest strong man and hold on tight.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Steve responded by putting a comforting hand on _his_ arm.

There was no time to really think about that though, because the lights didn't stop. But, it wasn't like before—they weren't flashing violently—they were just… turning on. Gradual, and in a relatively straight line; they weren't like the monster's frantic alarm at all.

They came closer, and the four teens stumbled back a little. But, just as quickly, they went back the way they came. Almost like someone _(the Demogorgon? Not thinking clearly because of pain? Scared of them? Dying from the burns?) _was thinking better of coming down this way and had decided to leave. Henry's hand slid off of Steve's arm as something became clear very suddenly; this was _different._

Without consulting with one another, or even really exchanging looks, the teens began to slowly creep after the path of lights.

As they followed, none of them said a word. They were all holding their breaths, waiting to see what would happen. Waiting to see if this situation would suddenly change. Waiting for the lights to start to flash again.

Waiting for the monster.

_"Mom."_

Despite everything that they'd just gone through, Jonathan's soft voice seemed to drill directly into Henry's head. He never would've been able to guess on his own, but Henry knew that he was right. In this moment, there was no way that Jonathan could be wrong.

The house was bright for someone _very _different from the Demogorgon.

The lights paused in its movement for a moment—just long enough to make Henry wonder if they'd stopped permanently—before they continued on their path; eventually running out of bulbs to illuminate. The four of them hurried outside to the porch, and made it just in time to see the lamppost flicker before it was gone.

"Where's it going?" Nancy murmured; Jonathan's answer soft, but confident.

"I don't think that's the monster."

His words hung heavily in the air, and it was quiet for a long moment.

All Henry could think about was the two people who were both farther away than they ever had been, and had just been standing right next to them. He wondered if he'd ever actually see them again, or if the last look he'd ever have was the quick one as they left the school. If the Byers' family would be reunited, or if Jonathan would be the last one standing. If they'd succeed, or if they'd all just end up in the same place as Barb.

If the last words he'd ever exchange with Hopper would be...

The ones he'd barely been able to comprehend.

"What… What else could it be?"

Henry, Nancy, and Jonathan turned slowly and Steve didn't even have the awareness to look self-conscious. For a moment, they stared at him, and he stared back, like he didn't understand why they were looking at him like that in the first place. None of them said anything, and the three teens in the know turned their attention to each other—all of them thinking the same thing.

Henry had a flashback to fifteen minutes ago; to the argument about who would answer the door.

Jonathan and Nancy had ganged up on him—gone on about how he was the only one who wouldn't cause the biggest problem on sight—and this time they didn't have that luxury. It wasn't like they had any rational reason to shove this off on him this time around. Hell, he'd dealt with Steve on the Byers' front porch; he should be completely released from responsibility.

Honestly, _Nancy _should do it. She was the one with any sort of connection to Steve, and since this whole thing had ripped their relationship apart, it would make sense for her to be the one that explained. Yeah, Nancy was the one for this job, Nancy was the one who should explain, _Nancy…_

Henry sighed, and he looked down at the blood seeping through on his left hand.

_Damn it._

"Grab me the bandages," he said simply, turning his attention back to his two friends with a significant look. They both nodded, relief in their eyes, and Henry could see how the tension in Nancy's shoulders lessened just a little bit; she'd probably been thinking the same thing that he had. They headed inside, but Henry didn't follow. Instead, he turned away from the door and smiled grimly at Steve.

"Let's sit down."

.

The swinging bench creaked ominously as the two boys lowered their weight onto it, but the chain didn't snap, so neither one really paid much attention to it. The bat was leaning against the porch railing, close enough that it could be grabbed at a moment's notice. It wouldn't be surprising if that _thing _came tearing through the wall, looking for revenge; who cared if the others were acting like they were in the clear right now?

Of course, they could know something he didn't. That wouldn't exactly be out of left field.

Steve glanced sideways at Henry, who was grimacing at the bloody bandage on his hand, and felt his stomach twist into knots. He wasn't stupid_, _he knew why the other two had gone inside. Why they'd sat down on this swinging porch bench together. He knew what was coming next.

But, he also knew it wasn't _just _that. For him, at least; it wasn't just the anticipation of whatever this conversation was about to be, what Henry was going to tell him. It was something else too. Something more personal.

God, three days ago, the best he could offer about Henry Sinclair was that "he seemed like a nice guy."

Now? Now that Henry had stepped between him and a gun? Now that he'd kept a _monster _from clawing Henry apart?

_What now?_

The Byers' door squeaked and both of them tensed—their eyes jerking up in time to see Nancy stepping out of the house. Steve felt his heart in his throat as he watched her cross the distance between them. There was a tornado of emotions when he saw his-his, well, one-time girlfriend. Shame, confusion, and maybe a little bit of fear all mixed up inside of him, and he couldn't find a single thing to say.

Maybe that was a good thing though, since Nancy didn't even glance at him. Instead, she looked at Henry with an unnatural amount of focus, and Steve wasn't sure if that was because she was trying really hard to not acknowledge him or… or if there was a different reason for why she only paid attention to Henry.

"Here," Nancy said, not only passing him a towel and a roll of bandages, but also managing to work up a small smile for him.

"Thanks, Nance," Henry murmured and, even though it wasn't very happy, he did his best to smile back.

The familiarity of it all made Steve's chest ache, and it occurred to him that, while everything he'd done in the alley had been one giant mistake, thinking that something was going on between Nancy and Henry was probably the closet he'd come to being right.

He didn't doubt that Henry had been telling the truth when he said that they hadn't slept together. He'd been right from the start, from the moment he'd really met him in the garage; Henry wasn't that type of person. Steve really doubted he'd make a move on a girl who had a boyfriend, let alone sleep with her. But, that didn't mean that there wasn't something there. Maybe not actions, but feelings. The kind that undoubtedly went both ways, because…

Because how could Nancy not return them?

Steve couldn't even get himself to be angry about it, all he could think was _"Yeah, that's fair."_

"So…" Henry said, pulling him back to the present—the one where Nancy had gone back inside and it was just the two of them again, "You probably have some questions."

"Yeah," Steve replied, his voice coming out high pitched and strained, "Yeah, I have some."

Henry met his eyes, and at the very least looked a little embarrassed about what he'd just said.

"Right," he said lowly, and he turned his attention to where he was unwrapping his hand, "Well, I guess… I guess just go for it, then."

A million questions rattled around in Steve's head; so many that he didn't even know where to _start. _As he tried to pick one, his gaze drifted down, just in time to watch the last of the bloodied bandage pull away and reveal a slash across Henry's palm.

The gears shifted.

_"What the hell was that thing?" "Why were you three even fighting it?" _and_ "What the fuck is going on?" _all faded into the background, in favor of the question that popped into his brain right then.

"What happened to your hand?"

Henry's head jerked up and Steve could see that had caught him by surprise. He'd probably been expecting one of those other questions—the ones about the monster or about what the _hell _was happening—and not something so low stakes, but so… _personal._

It was Steve's turn to be a little embarrassed.

Luckily, Henry looked back to the slice on his hand quickly enough that he didn't see the heat color his features, and Steve was spared at least a little bit of discomfort. Henry grabbed the towel and the two of them winced in sync when he pressed it down against the cut. Steve never considered himself a very squeamish person, but _that… _he was starting to not regret asking that question, because he'd really like to know who exactly had done _that _to Henry.

"I did it with a kitchen knife."

Steve's eyes snapped up, unable to process what Henry had just said oh so casually. The desire to ring the neck of whoever decided to start waving around something sharp disappeared, and was replaced with unease sinking in his gut. No matter how he racked his brains, he couldn't think of a single thing Henry could say that would be a good explanation for why he'd done that.

"What?" Steve had meant for that to come out different, for it to be a demand for an explanation, but his voice came out far too weak to accomplish that.

"Blood attracts that thing, like a shark," Henry answered, still not speaking with an appropriate level of seriousness. Although, this time Steve would've actually preferred if it was less serious, because then it would've been the sick joke that it _should_ be.

"You _wanted _it to come here?" Steve asked, unable to keep shock out of his voice, "_Why_?"

Henry finally looked up again and met his eye, and Steve got to see an indecipherable whirlwind of emotions in his eyes. The moment didn't last long before he turned back down to his hand, and Steve didn't have the time to even begin to figure out what he'd seen in his expression before Henry spoke and just confused him even more.

"That's kind of a long story."

Steve watched as he pulled the towel away from the cut—the bleeding had stopped for the time being—and began to wrap it in a clean bandage. His attention never strayed, and if Steve didn't know any better, he'd think that Henry had just _forgotten _that he was sitting here next to him. Forgotten everything they'd just gone through together. Forgotten all the questions he was supposed to be—

Oh.

Henry didn't want to do this.

Once the thought occurred to Steve, everything that was happening suddenly made sense. For whatever reason, he didn't want to explain everything, and he was hoping that ignoring him would make it all go away. Maybe he didn't even realize he was doing it, but he was. Henry was shying away from him, trying to block him out, and it was all because of whatever strange things that had happened _before _Steve came knocking on the door.

The things that Steve _needed _to know.

Without thinking about it, Steve grabbed Henry's injured hand and pulled it closer; taking over the job of wrapping without saying a word.

It was quiet for a moment, and Steve looked up to see Henry wearing a befuddled expression, like he couldn't comprehend what was happening right now. Which was pretty funny; he took monsters coming through the walls in stride, but not Steve clumsily helping him. His fingers twitched a little, but he didn't pull back—he didn't pull away.

"Should—" Henry's voice gave out a little and he cleared his throat before he spoke again, "Should I just start from the beginning?"

That caught Steve off guard, enough that he stopped poorly bandaging Henry's hand for a moment. But, he didn't let go, not even when he answered.

"Yeah," He said, squeezing Henry's hand so gently that any softer he might've missed it, "From the beginning."

Henry took a deep breath, but he didn't look away. Not only did his focus stay on Steve, but he caught the ghost of a smile pass over Henry's lips. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it was enough for something to settle in Steve. For him to feel like maybe he'd finally done right by Henry.

"It started with Will."

.

Steve's hands were surprisingly gentle as he wrapped his hand, although he moved way slower than strictly necessary. Henry guessed that was because his mind was less focused on dressing his wound and more on the story he was telling, and he couldn't exactly get mad at him for that.

Also, he probably didn't know what he was doing.

Just the same, Henry hadn't expected for Steve Harrington—the douchebag from school, the dork from the garage, and the hero from just a little bit ago—to be quite so soft. He was going to ignore how that made him feel all warm and fluttery, just like how he ignored the thrill he felt at the memory of Steve saving him from the monster.

That was for his own good.

Henry told the story as best he could. Now that the floodgates were open, they were impossible to stop; he _wanted_ Steve to know what had happened. He wanted him to understand what they'd gone through in the past few days. He found himself telling him everything he remembered, everything he knew that would be hard to believe. Everything that had brought the pair of them to this porch swing together.

Steve was pretty quiet throughout, listening with his brow furrowed, and when he did interrupt it was to ask a question; ones that Henry always answered honestly. The only time Henry thought he actually might've lost him was when the conversation turned to Eleven. He'd thought he'd been joking, and had gotten annoyed _("I know I've been a real dick to you lately, but that doesn't make it right to act like an ass right now, Henry.")_. But, once Henry had pointed out he had no reason to lie, Steve had gone quiet for the rest of the story.

His hands never got any rougher—not even when he was mad.

"And then you showed up."

After talking for what felt like hours, it was almost odd that it was so quiet. They were saved from complete silence only by the rustling of leaves, and even though Henry knew it was just because of the cool wind, he still felt anxiety twist in his gut as his mind supplied an answer for just why those trees were moving.

But, maybe it wasn't just what could be lurking in the dark that was making him nervous. Maybe it was because each second that passed, Steve's silence felt more and more damning.

Steve reached down to grab the tape off the bench so he could secure the bandage; he'd finished wrapping Henry's hand.

He didn't let go.

"What about Barb?"

Henry didn't pull his hand back, even though he'd just been wondering if maybe he should before he gave away something about himself to _Steve Harrington_, but now all thoughts had been wiped out of his head. He couldn't think of a single thing, those words that had just been said rang in his head over and over.

And Steve just kept going.

"You said Eleven found Will, and that Mrs. Byers and the Chief are going to get him," he expanded, looking up to meet Henry's eyes, "What about Barb?"

It was quiet for a long, _long _moment.

He hadn't told him.

He hadn't told Steve the reason he and Nancy had been so determined to kill the monster.

He hadn't even realized that he hadn't told him.

Henry felt guilt curl in his stomach, and the familiar pain washed over him once again as he was forced to remember what had happened earlier tonight. He knew in his heart that the reason he hadn't said a single word about what Eleven had found in the Bath wasn't because he'd forgotten, rather because his mind had been trying to protect itself from that experience, but he still felt the shame of someone who'd neglected to honor their best friend's memory.

As all this sunk in, Henry didn't look away. He was frozen in place, staring at Steve. He got to see hurt darken Henry's features. He got to see tears well up in his eyes.

He got to see in Henry's expression what had happened to Barb.

Steve's face dropped, and that was enough to wake Henry from his catatonic state. He looked away quickly, and pulled his hand away just as fast. While he tried to blink away the sting in his eyes, he could hear a shaky breath come from beside him.

"Henry…" Steve said, remorse and pain and sympathy all mixing up together, and all of it _hurt _to hear, "I am _so _sorry. I…"

His voice sort of just gave out, although Henry didn't know if that was because he didn't know what to say, or because the reality of the situation had really hit him. Either way, he didn't say anything else, and it was quiet between the two boys for a little bit. Henry didn't even notice the rustling of the tree this time around. He was far too wrapped up in his own spiraling thoughts and the horrible feeling in his stomach.

Finally, he cleared his throat and stood up; turning to look at Steve, whose expression was open and only made Henry feel worse. He couldn't imagine how Steve felt knowing that the beginning of the end had started right in his backyard.

He tried not to think about it, he tried not to think about any of it. Instead, he focused on one thing: he'd done it. He'd told Steve the whole story. That was finally over.

"Ready to go inside?" Henry asked simply. Steve nodded mutely after a second, and he stood up as well; the two of them heading into the Byers' house, and neither of them feeling very good.

"Steve," Nancy said the moment they crossed the threshold, sounding surprised. Henry wasn't sure what she expected—maybe she'd thought he'd make a run for it as soon as he got the truth—but he suddenly remembered everything that had transpired between these two. Everything that had happened in the alley, and everything that had happened _before _the alley.

On top of all the pain—physical and emotional—Henry got to feel bad for a _new _reason.

He shouldn't have felt all nice when Steve had wrapped his hand, or when he saved him from the Demogorgon. Even though it wasn't anything other than passing pleasure that came when he got attention from a cute boy, the fact that he was Nancy's boyfriend (ex or not) meant that even thinking about it was bad friendship etiquette.

God, if Barb knew he was getting all silly over Steve Harrington, she would—

No, no. Not right now.

"Hey, Nance," Steve replied, his rough but hesitant voice keeping Henry from going down that path again. It was pretty clear that he had no idea where he stood right now and, to be fair, Henry had spent the past few days with Nancy, and even he didn't know what was going to happen between her and Steve.

Jonathan looked between the two of them with a funny expression, and even though Henry was feeling like garbage, he still found it in himself to roll his eyes.

Henry really wanted to slip away. He didn't want to be here for this, no matter if it was a reconciliation or a break up. Besides, it would just be right to leave these two alone to work out their shit. Who wanted to do all this while your two friends awkwardly stood at the fringes? And, more importantly, what two friends wanted to awkwardly stand at the fringes while a couple had important conversations about their relationship? Henry turned to Jonathan, about to ask him if he'd like to join him in his room, far away from this festering hormone-fueled nightmare.

The sharp sound of a ringing phone shattered the silence before he could.

All four of them jumped and spun to face the handheld that rested on the floor where Nancy had tossed it. None of them made a move to get it, all of them remembering just what had happened when Joyce answered the phone in this house. All of them wondering what horrible thing had come calling.

The phone continued to ring, and Henry was all but certain that it would stop before any of them breathed again.

Then, just like that, Steve crossed the room and scooped up the phone.

"Byers' Residence, Steve Harrington speaking."

Henry might've laughed at his casual tone, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel any humor in this moment. Instead, he watched Steve's frown deepen as the voice on the other end spoke inaudibly.

"Yeah, he's right here," he said, holding the phone out to Jonathan, "It's the hospital."

Jonathan's eyes widened and he hurriedly took the phone from Steve; pressing it to his ear with a little too much force.

"Hello?" He asked, his voice coming out fast, "This-This is Jonathan Byers."

It was quiet again as all of them watched Jonathan's expression morph into utter shock. Henry's stomach twisted in knots as he considered all the things he could be hearing right now—all the things that could've gone wrong—and how none of them measured up to the way Jonathan looked right now.

It was none of those things.

He knew it before Jonathan hung up. Before Jonathan hurriedly threw an explanation at them while he stalked out of his house. Before they all piled into the Cutlass and sped down the road.

He knew it from the way Jonathan whispered one word.

_"Will."_

_._

_._

_._

I implore you to find ways to support the Black Lives Matter movement if you aren't already. It might seem like this story has faded from the headlines, but it's very much ongoing and we should all be doing everything we can to help. Here's the Black Lives Matter Carrd so you can find ways to get involved: blacklivesmatters. carrd. co (without the spaces: this website wouldn't let me post it as a link for some reason).


	12. i got a taste of love in a simple way

Lucas and Nancy were sleeping on his shoulders.

Henry didn't blame them, and he didn't mind being used as a pillow. It had been a very long day, and seeing how this small waiting room was dark and nearly silent, it was almost the perfect place to recuperate while they waited.

But, Henry couldn't bring himself to shut his eyes.

He wasn't quite sure what was holding him back from resting like Nancy and Lucas_. _There were a million thoughts and emotions that could be the culprit; it was almost silly to even try to figure out which was forcing him to stay awake. Could it be the grief that was sinking into his bones? Or the guilt that was choking him? Or maybe it was just the constant stream of consciousness that was bombarding him with all the different things that had gone wrong, and all the ways that was his fault; like how, maybe if he hadn't decided to just leave the kids alone at the school, then Eleven wouldn't be—

Henry sighed softly and looked over to his right shoulder, to Lucas, and he smiled a little despite everything. He was fully out (Henry suspected Nancy was just dozing) and he looked just like he always did. Henry knew, after this whole thing, he wouldn't be the same. None of them would be. And sure, that was another thing keeping Henry awake—an uncertain future to agonize over—but right now, looking down at Lucas's peaceful expression, Henry didn't feel quite so bad.

He still wouldn't sleep, though.

He never really could in the hospital.

Henry swallowed hard and forced his breathing to remain steady as he tried to push _those_ particular thoughts away. The ones he'd been trying to ignore from the moment he stepped into this familiar building. He already had everything from the past week weighing on him, he didn't need to add _that_ on top.

But, it was the truth, wasn't it? He'd slept horribly during his extended stay here at Hawkins' General; only really crashing when he was drugged out of his mind. And, it wasn't just because he was a kid in an alien environment, surrounded by strangers, and in the worst pain he'd ever experienced. If that had been all, he probably would've still slept more than light dozes brought on by exhaustion. In reality, he hadn't been able to sleep for a very _different _reason; a truth that wouldn't stop rattling around in his brain.

Henry's jaw clenched and he sighed hard through his nose; he _really_ didn't need this right now, not with everything going on. His eyes flitted around the room, trying to find something to distract himself from those thoughts (the ones that were not so different from what he used to have in the hospital room at night as a kid), when they landed on something that more than did the trick. Something that he'd forgotten.

Steve was staring.

He had been for a while. Henry had noticed earlier, not long after Nancy and Lucas had independently decided that he was a great place to catch some sleep, but he'd tried to ignore it. Although, it was possible that his unrelenting gaze was one of the (many) reasons Henry just couldn't seem to relax.

The thing was, if it had been a glare, Henry would've shrugged it off. Let Steve be pissed that Nancy was more comfortable with him than she was with the guy who might not even be her boyfriend anymore. That was nobody's fault but Steve's. Besides, it wasn't like Henry was actually _guilty _of what Steve would be upset about, so why should he feel bad?

But, Steve didn't seem angry.

He just looked _sad._

There was no fire to Steve's expression; there wasn't even that practiced apathy that they'd seen in the alley. He wasn't angry or indignant about what he thought was happening right in front of him, he was just… _resigned._

Henry's thoughts were pulled away to Nancy when she readjusted, and he thought nothing of it as one of the hands that had been resting on his arm reached down to entangle their fingers together. Henry squeezed her hand a little, and he felt her grip tighten for a moment in response.

Steve was out of the room before Henry even realized that he'd stood.

Guilt clogged Henry's throat, and it wouldn't disappear no matter how hard he swallowed. He wasn't doing anything wrong, he _knew _he wasn't, but… But, it didn't feel good to hurt someone like this. Especially someone who'd helped them—saved his _life— _and was trying to be a better person, and was actually pretty nice, and gentle, and kind, and attractive—

_Okay. Enough._

Henry nearly outwardly scoffed at himself; this is where he was at, huh? Putting all of his attention on one problem because this _particular _one had a pretty (albeit, bruised) face. It was barely even a problem, not compared to everything else. Jonathan and Mrs. Byers were bedside with Will, who still hadn't woken up; Lucas and Dustin might be asleep right now, but it was easy to tell how broken up all the boys were over Eleven; and _Hopper—_

Suddenly, this room felt a little too small.

Henry unconsciously squirmed in his seat, and it was enough for Nancy to raise her head and look at him with bleary eyes.

"Everything okay?" She asked, her voice so soft that it barely disturbed the silence of the room.

"Um, yeah," Henry replied just as gently, "Just, um, have to use the restroom."

Instead of clocking him on that obvious lie, Nancy's eyes drifted to where Lucas leaned against him.

"Do you want help?" She asked, Henry nodding a little. After a moment of slowly configuring, Nancy helped Henry slowly slide Lucas's head over onto Dustin's shoulder. The pair exchanged small, proud smiles once it was clear he wouldn't wake up, and it was only a little dampened by how every conscious person in the room stared at them.

"Do you want anything from the vending machine?" Henry asked, and after Nancy shook her head, he headed out; ignoring how both Mrs. Wheeler's and Hopper's eyes followed him. One of those was going to lead to an uncomfortable conversation between Nancy and her mom—one that Henry didn't envy, but didn't _fear—_while the other…

_God, _he needed a cigarette.

Henry instinctually dug his hands into his pockets, expecting to brush his fingers against the familiar cardboard box, before he remembered that he'd smoked his last one hours ago. Henry mentally cursed at himself—for what exactly, he wasn't sure—and he drudged down the hallways with significantly less of a plan for where he was headed.

Maybe some sugar, maybe that would help right now.

Henry rounded into the main waiting room (not the small one their group had been herded to by the harried nurses), hoping to distract his brain for a little while with something sweet. But, that idea was quickly thrown out the window when he realized he wasn't the only one who'd had it.

At least Steve looked just as shocked to see him.

They stared at each other for a long moment—like neither one of them could comprehend that they'd run into someone they already knew was in the building—before they both followed some instinctive cue and hurriedly turned away. Henry tried to put all of his focus onto the vending machine, like he wasn't uncomfortably aware of Steve standing somewhere behind him, but even so it took him a little too long to put in his quarters and pick out some M&Ms.

Once he'd grabbed his candy, he sent one last awkward look at Steve before he headed back the way he came, even though he had no idea of where he was going to go now. Certainly not back to the waiting room. Maybe he would just hang out in this hallway and give every nurse that walked past him something to gossip about.

"Henry!"

_Uh-oh._

A part of Henry wanted to just ignore Steve's voice and keep going on his way. Pretend like he'd never heard him. But, he was raised better than that, so he slowed and turned back the way he'd came. It didn't even matter though, because from the way Steve hurried after him, it was clear that he wasn't going to let him get away.

"Hey," Henry said as he came to a stop in front of him.

"Hey," Steve replied, his eyes flashing around the hall for a moment, like he just realized that he'd jogged in the middle of a hospital, before they landed firmly on Henry, "Listen, I want to talk to you about Nancy."

"Oh, Steve—" Henry started, that familiar uncomfortable sensation in his stomach—the one that always came when someone implied anything about him with a woman—feeling worse than ever.

"No, no, just listen," Steve interrupted, shaking his head and making that strand of hair in the front bounce distractingly; something almost manic about the way he moved, "I was a terrible boyfriend to Nancy, okay? I know that. I was—I _am_ the worst—"

"_Steve,"_ Henry heard himself protest.

"Let me finish," Steve replied, pushing on like he'd never been interrupted, "I am the worst. But, Nancy's not. Nancy's nice and smart and _great, _and-and… You're great too. So, if there's something going on, it's okay. I'm not going to try to get in the way. You two…"

Steve's voice gave out before he could finish and his eyes dropped down to the ground. All that wound up energy was suddenly gone, like that unspoken sentence had sucked it out of him and left behind someone who was a lot less sure of himself. But, before Henry could say anything, Steve shook his head a little, took a deep breath, and looked him right in the eye.

"You two will be good together."

It was quiet for a moment, Henry completely taken aback by that outburst of genuine emotion from Steve. Despite everything Steve had done today, Henry hadn't seen that coming. Maybe he wouldn't try to pick a fight, but Henry had been expecting him to at least spin a sob story to make him feel bad about being with Nancy. Try to engage him in some sort of "bro code" that Henry never really believed in. Steve hadn't, though; hadn't tried to hold him accountable for something Henry hadn't even done. Instead…

Instead he'd tried to do the right thing, even though it hurt.

And Henry _knew_ that it did.

Steve hadn't looked away this whole time, and Henry was able to see everything in his vulnerable expression. He was sad, and resigned, and most of all, trying so _hard. _Stevewas trying to be _good. _Stevewas doing what he thought would make him and Nancy happy. Steve was putting his happiness before his own. Steve was looking up at him with expressive dark brown eyes. Steve was… Steve…

Steve thought he was _great._

"It's not like that," Henry burst out, "With me and Nancy, it's not like that."

It was quiet for a long moment, and Henry inwardly winced at himself. What he'd said was alright, honestly, and he didn't think he could've come up with anything much better if he was given an hour to mull it over. But, the way the words tumbled out of his mouth like they couldn't get out fast enough made his cheeks heat up, and he tried to convince himself he'd gotten it out quick because he didn't want Steve to feel bad any longer than necessary. Not for any otherreasons.

Steve hardly seemed to notice the desperate way Henry had said it, or how embarrassed it made him after the fact. Instead, he just stared at him; looking more and more baffled as the seconds ticked by.

"Are you sure?" He finally asked, sounding like he was _legitimately_ wondering if Henry was just mistaken or confused or something.

"Um, yeah, I'm-I'm sure," Henry replied, not entirely certain of what to say to that.

Steve didn't reply right away again, but this time instead of looking confused, he put his hands on his hips with a funny look on his face. It had drifted far away from puzzlement, and had become… _bitchy?_

"Okay, I'm trying to do the right thing, so it's kind of rude to act like I'm _stupid. _I'm not, okay? Yeah, I was wrong in the alley, but you and Nancy were just basically cuddling, so, you know, the jazz is up, man. I know. And-And that's _fine, _alright? I get it. You're all _cool _and _nice _and _brave, _so fine, Nancy likes you and not me. Whatever. Just don't lie to my _face _about it. I'm stepping aside and taking the high road, you dick; the least you can do is own up to the fact that you and Nancy have something instead of insulting me like I don't have eyes, and if you don't wipe that _smirk_ off your face, Sinclair, I will knock it off _for you."_

Henry's amused smile didn't budge, and actually grew at the threat.

He hadn't meant to start grinning during the rant, but it'd just happened. And it wasn't entirely because Steve had complimented him while he was mad (although, hearing about how great you are while the person is spitting it out felt weird), but because…

He _liked _Steve.

Not just Steve when he'd saved him from the Demogorgon or had been so gentle and nice when he'd wrapped his hand; he'd already known he'd liked _that_. But, right now, listening to Steve's righteous little outburst, he realized that he liked this part too. He liked this indignant prep. It was funny, and Henry thought he'd liked to see this more, especially if his wrath wasn't pointed at him.

Not to say he would want to stoke the flames anymore and see what he did, though.

That's why, before his temper flared even further, Henry moved in a little closer with a soft smile that was nearly indulgent. Steve's grouchy expression disappeared almost instantaneously, although Henry wasn't certain what he'd done to make that happen, let alone what about his reaction had made Steve's eyes get so wide.

"Steve," Henry said, his voice soothing, if maybe a tad condescending, "Why would I lie about this? Like you said, you're giving me the go ahead, but I'm still telling you that there's nothing there. It's not like that. Nancy's my friend, just like Jonathan."

Steve kept looking at him with those big eyes, like he hadn't said anything at all, and Henry wondered if maybe he'd broken him somehow, although he had no idea what he'd done. It was only after Henry raised his eyebrows that he stopped staring—blinking hard and dropping his gaze down to his feet—and it seemed that then his words registered.

Steve's brow furrowed while his eyes jumped around the room, and it was quiet for a moment as the two boys stood together, with Henry having nothing to look at but Steve's bewildered expression. What he'd just said was probably more than enough to convince him, but in that moment, Henry couldn't stop himself from making sure that Steve felt completely better.

"Even if Nancy was completely, madly in love with me—which, she isn't—I wouldn't be with her," he said, and when Steve's dark brown eyes snapped to his with such a myriad of emotions in them, Henry's mind suddenly had a hard time focusing on the words coming out of his mouth "I-I don't see her like that, okay? So, um, you never-never have to worry about it. It's not like—I'm not competing with Nancy."

It was quiet for a moment, and Steve didn't break eye contact for even a second, although this wasn't the wide-eyed stare from before. He just kept looking at him, probably weighing what he'd said, and Henry didn't break it because he didn't want to seem like a liar. Nothing to do with the possibility that he might not be able to tear himself away.

But, after a moment, a smile started to pull on Steve's lips, and Henry felt himself start to as well. Even though Henry had just felt like he needed to say everything he could to make sure that Steve was convinced, now he didn't feel like he needed to say a single word. Steve understood.

"For Nancy," Steve said offhandedly.

"What?" Henry asked, his brow furrowing a little as he wondered if he'd missed something.

"You said 'competing with Nancy,'" Steve explained casually, not in the least bit concerned by what he was saying, "You meant 'for Nancy.'"

It was quiet for a second longer than it should've been.

"Oh. Right," Henry said, his words stilted, his smile stiff, and he waited just a little too long before continuing again, "It-It's been a long day. My prepositions are a little off."

Steve nodded like it was nothing more than that—like he hadn't even noticed how strangely he'd responded—before he leaned against the hallway wall, sent him a thoughtful look, and did the one thing that Henry hoped and prayed for; moved on without a second thought.

"You're really friends with Nancy and Jonathan?" He asked, "Like, it wasn't just working together or whatever?"

"I mean," Henry said, more than happy to latch onto this other somewhat uncomfortable topic to get away from the _really _dangerous area, "I don't know, I hope so. I like them."

"She likes you too," Steve said, smiling a little, like he was happy he could admit that without having to face anything painful, "And, if anyone can make Creepy Byers crack, it's you."

Henry thoughtlessly reached out and lightly smacked him on the arm before he could really think about it. But, Steve just chuckled, so he figured he hadn't crossed any lines. He offered him some M&Ms just to be safe, though.

Steve took a handful with a small smile, and it was quiet for a moment as the pair shared the candy. The hospital was far from busy at this time of night, and instead of thinking about how familiar the sounds of the nurses shuffling around the sleepy building were, Henry let his mind wander.

It was impossible to sit in silence and not find himself returning to reruns of what he'd survived tonight. Somehow though, it wasn't the memory of the monster that was making him feel worse by the second, but rather everything _else._ Of course, that wasn't that surprising; the Demogorgon was just one of many things that had happened today.

Did he walk out on his mom just this morning?

God, his _mom._

He needed to call her, he needed to make sure that she knew that he and Lucas were alright, but he also needed her to know that they wouldn't be coming home until there was news on Will. He also needed to talk to Lucas, _really _talk to Lucas, and he needed to make sure he was doing okay after everything he'd gone through. He needed to talk to _all _the kids, and he needed to talk to Nancy, and he needed to talk to Jonathan, and he needed to talk to—

_Fuck, _he needed to smoke a cigarette.

"Shit. Stop."

Henry was pulled out of his thoughts by Steve's muttered words, and he wondered if he'd somehow known that he was spiraling. But, when he turned to ask Steve what he'd meant by that, he found that he was desperately trying to catch an M&M in his mouth before it could fall to the ground. Henry couldn't help the small laugh that passed his lips, and Steve only looked a little embarrassed about what he'd been caught doing. He just laughed a little too, and Henry felt a small rush of affection in his chest when he did.

"_I think we probably could've been friends if you didn't avoid me."_

He'd barely even registered it when Steve had said it—in his defense, Steve had said _a lot _of things in that moment, and he was just desperate to get him to go away—but now he had a chance to think about it. A chance to realize that his attempts to stay away from Steve hadn't been as nearly subtle as he'd thought they were.

He'd just assumed that Steve wouldn't notice, or that he wouldn't care even if he did. Why would he care about a guy he didn't even know? He didn't have the hookups (alcohol or otherwise), he didn't throw parties, he wasn't on the basketball team, and he never even did anything that interesting. He really had _nothing_ to offer Steve.

Unless, maybe, he wasn't looking for all that stuff.

Uh-oh.

Henry felt a sinking in his stomach as the realization hit him; he may have passed judgement a little too harshly. In his defense, the whole "King Steve" thing and the fact that he hung out with Tommy H and Carol really did make Steve seem like a complete jackass. But, just the same, Henry had assumed that Steve was lessthan what he was, and had been cold because of it, and… That wasn't fair. Steve at least deserved to know _why _he'd stayed away; it clearly bothered him.

And, maybe it was because Henry hadn't had a goodnight's rest in what felt like a decade, or because of the way the past week had changed him, or even just because Steve was there, but Henry figured that there was no time like the present.

"I avoided you because I thought you were a giant douchebag."

Okay, _that _was definitely because of the lack of sleep.

"… What?" Steve replied with his mouth full of M&Ms, like he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. Henry could feel the confidence that he'd felt not moments ago begin to slip away under Steve's bewildered gaze, but he knew he couldn't stop now

"I didn't mean that, I…" Henry paused, trying to gather his thoughts before he winced a little, "Okay, I meant that, but I'm not saying that you _are _a douchebag, just that I thought you were."

It was quiet for a moment, with the only sounds being the breathing of the two boys and the distant sound of nurses.

"I don't…" Steve trailed off, his brow scrunched, and Henry sighed a little before he turned to face him dead-on.

"Back at the Byers', you said you didn't understand why I avoided you," he explained, clarity starting to dawn on Steve's expression, "And, I just thought… the way everyone talked about you, and the fact that you hung out with Tommy H and Carol, I just… I never saw a point in..."

It was Henry's turn to trail off, because now he was starting to feel bad about this. Saying it so plainly made him realize how mean it was; how he'd just written off Steve without a second thought. Hadn't given him a single chance all of high school. Hadn't given a single chance to the guy who'd saved his life tonight.

"Oh."

Steve didn't even have to say a real word to turn feeling kind of bad into full-fledged _guilt. _All it had taken was the soft sound spoken on the exhale for Henry to understand exactly how he felt in that moment; exactly how Henry had _made _him feel.

"I don't think that anymore, though," Henry said, his words rushing out of him as he desperately tried to raise Steve's spirits, "It's-I was assuming without ever just finding out for myself, and now I know I was wrong, so… So, I'm sorry."

It was quiet again, and Henry was surprised by how tense he was as he waited for Steve's response. His expression was unreadable, and there wasn't anything about his mannerisms that might give away what he was thinking right now, so Henry had no choice but to wait and see what he had to say. His fingers twisted against one another and he resisted the urge to reach into his pocket for the box he knew wasn't even there.

"Well, I mean…" Steve said slowly, "I _am _a douchebag, so…"

He looked up and smiled, and Henry heard himself chuckle a little, probably more out of relief than anything. It was small, but a bit of the weight on him was lifted, and after the day—the _week—_he'd had, that was more than enough to make him feel worlds better.

"I'm sorry too," Steve said suddenly, trying to be nice, but ruining the moment just the same, "For what I said in the alley."

"_I always took you for a queer."_

Everything Henry had pushed away was suddenly forced into the spotlight, and the relief that he'd been soaking up was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

For one split-second, he thought that Steve was talking about _that_; talking about when he'd spat that awful word. But, just as quickly, Henry remembered that Steve hadn't even said it to _him_. That had been completely pointed at Jonathan. In fact, what had actually cut deep were things that Steve probably would never even think of apologizing to _Henry _about. Not unless he knew some stuff that made him queasy to even think about.

"… I think you probably need to apologize to Jonathan and Nancy more than me," Henry settled on, feeling more than a little uncomfortable now.

He was kind of hoping Steve would just drop it. It wasn't like he was ever going to be able to actually apologize, so Henry would rather just ignore the whole thing. To be honest, he might've even forgotten all about it after everything that had happened today if Steve hadn't brought it back up.

Besides, even if he knew enough about Henry that he could apologize, that didn't mean he _would. _A guy like Steve would probably think that what he'd said was warranted. He'd probably laugh at him, or sneer in disgust, or-or… Or just say it again.

God, Steve, why'd you have to ruin _everything?_

And, yeah it was stupid to be upset about this. Stupid to be mad that Steve had brought up something so he could apologize. But, honestly Henry didn't care about being stupid right now. He was coming off of the hardest day of his life, during the hardest week of his life. He'd just like to revel in having a cute guy be nice to him, and not think about how that guy had said something really awful and would probably do it again if he knew the truth, okay? Sue him. What little relief Henry had been able to find was gone now. He could be a little annoyed.

"I guess…" Steve murmured, not knowing that the person sitting next to him was getting more heated by the second. It was quiet for a bit, and Henry figured that he'd dropped the topic altogether. Although the damage was already done, and he couldn't see himself getting past this again, Henry appreciated that he'd just shut up about it. If he'd kept talking, he might've snapped.

But, as soon as Henry had decided that Steve had let it go, he leveled Henry with a look more thoughtful than he could ever recall seeing on his face.

"I still feel like I owe you one," Steve said, like he himself didn't quite understand what he was saying.

And, although that wasn't nearly enough to make Henry _not _irritated, he didn't feel like he was on the brink of ripping his head off either. He was more curious now; Steve's expression was so unfamiliar that Henry couldn't help but wonder what was going on underneath. Instead of saying anything—in case it came out snippy—he just tilted his head, and that seemed to be enough encouragement.

"I don't know why. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know I was a dick, but I just…" Steve looked away for a moment before he sighed a little like he was frustrated with himself and turned his attention wholly onto Henry, "I feel like I did something really bad to you. I don't know what, but I… I'm sorry. Really. I'm really, really sorry. I won't do it again."

It was quiet for a long moment as what Steve said sunk in; as the genuine words echoed in their heads.

As Henry grappled with the realization that Steve _knew _somehow.

Not about him being gay, no, but Steve definitely knew _something_, or else he would've never apologized like that. He never would've realized that he _needed _to apologize. So, somehow, Steve had picked up on some vibe or context clue and put things together enough to understand that he'd hurt him.

"How…" Henry's voice gave out, and he realized something himself; asking this would only back him further into the corner. Because, if he admitted that Steve had done something really bad, well, Steve might just want to know whatit _was._

Thankfully, there was something else that he could ask.

"How can you not do it again if you don't know what it was?"

Steve made a face, like he hadn't really considered that, and it was quiet for a few seconds as he tried to figure out an answer.

"I'll just be super nice to you forever, I guess," he finally said, shrugging a little, "Just in case."

That shocked a laugh out of Henry, and Steve smiled; clearly very proud that he'd gotten that reaction. But, even so, Henry could see in his eyes that he was still being genuine. He wasn't being flippant, he… he meant it. He meant every word he said, no matter how impossible his promises were. No matter that he had no idea what he even _was _promising. Or, who he was making it too. And…

Henry couldn't help but forgive him for everything.

He didn't tell him that, but he didn't have to. He just smiled, and he knew that was enough. He knew that Steve understood. He knew that Steve realized that things between them were different now, that they weren't the same kids that ignored each other in the halls, and that… That when he looked at him, he didn't see King Steve. Not anymore.

To be honest, at this second, Henry looked at him and wasn't quite sure he could trust himself with words.

He didn't mind that so much, though; sometimes it was nice to just stop and enjoy a pretty face, without speaking messing it all up. Or, he might justify it that way after the fact, because right now his mind was pretty much empty.

Thankfully, before it could stretch on too long and leave him feeling embarrassed, something else caught his eye.

"Jonathan?"

Steve turned and the two boys watched Jonathan hurry down the hallway, headed in the direction of the waiting room. They exchanged a look—both wondering the same thing— but neither could bring themselves to ask; probably because they were too scared to hear the answer. But, Jonathan replied without them ever having to say a word.

Although, the look on his face honestly should've been enough.

"He's up."

Once Jonathan had rushed past them, Henry's and Steve's eyes fell on each other again. They were still smiling, but it was different from before. Before, they'd just been happy that they were on good terms with one another. _This _happiness though, this was something else entirely. This was completely unadulterated, and all-encompassing. A kind of happiness that only happened once in a while.

Neither of them mentioned it, but they both thought it was a good look on the other.

Before either of them could say anything (although, who knows what they would've said), Jonathan was heading back the way he came, only this time accompanied by three boys whose energy levels were far too high for this time of night. As the kids scurried past with bright eyes and excitement at a nearly unreachable height, Henry caught an almost _indulgent_ look on Steve's face. It wasn't an expression he'd expected Steve Harrington to wear when he looked at children, but Henry supposed he should stop expecting anything of Steve; he kept proving him wrong.

It was nice to see, just the same.

Steve turned back to him, smiled—opened and unencumbered by any guilt or sadness (if only for little while)—and Henry felt his insides warm and turn soft. He couldn't even get mad at himself for it; I mean, who _wouldn't _feel like this with someone so cute was looking at them like that?

But, that expression slipped away before Henry could really bask in it, and was replaced with something gloomy and uncertain and _pained_.

Henry didn't even have to turn to see to know that Nancy was walking down the hall.

She didn't glance at the pair, either completely occupied with whatever she was doing or specifically ignoring them, and she headed the way the boys had. Steve's expression stayed dejected even once she was out of sight, and Henry felt his own anxieties begin to twist in his gut at the sight, which somehow weren't even limited to feeling weird about getting gooey about _Steve Harrington._

"Steve…" Henry started, searching for something that could reassure him, or at the very least lift his spirits a little. But, that all went out the window when his eyes landed on something behind him.

Nancy, again.

Only this time, she walked past the sliding doors and right outside.

And, no matter how pretty a face Steve had, Henry's focus was off of him entirely now. His best friend acting strange was more than enough to fully capture his attention, and immediately any plans for what he was going to do next were wiped away, and replaced with figuring out what was wrong with Nancy. He didn't even really acknowledge Steve as he left; trailing after Nancy without saying a word. But, Steve followed him just the same.

The night air was a slap in the face, and Henry was forced to take a moment the second he stepped outside. He was struck by how calm and cool the night was, with no traces of what had happened, of what _was _happening. It was just like any other night in Hawkins. Just like the night he'd sent Barb off after dinner and Lucas had come home to share a Coke with him in the garage. The night before Will didn't come to school. The night before all of this started.

But, he wasn't alone in his garage, working on his car, and he didn't have the luxury of the peace the rest of Hawkins shared. He was at a hospital, trying to make sense of what he'd gone through in the past week—trying to make sense of what he'd lost.

The only consolation was that he wasn't alone.

Nancy was sitting on the steps a few feet away, her back to him and her knees pulled up to her chest, and there was nothing in the world Henry wanted more than to join her.

He wanted to plop down right next to her on the steps, and he wanted to face this with the one other person who might get how he was feeling right now. He didn't know if it would make him feel better, or if it would cheer Nancy up at all either, but if he sat with her then neither one would be doing this by themselves.

Henry _knew _how much it sucked to be alone; how everything hurt a thousand times worse when you were the only one feeling it. He didn't want to do it, not again, and he didn't want Nancy to have to go through that either. They didn't have to though, because they could face this together, and it wasn't like anyone else—

Steve was looking at him like he was waiting for something.

Henry had been so tied up in his thoughts that he'd forgotten that he wasn't the only one who'd hurried out the hospital doors. Steve was here too, he'd seen the exact same thing, and he must've realized that Nancy was upset just like he had. But, he didn't look like he was thinking about sitting with her, like he was about to get involved. Instead, his expression was like…

Like he was waiting for _Henry_ to.

It didn't matter that he was her boyfriend (maybe) or that he cared about her, Steve had just… just _assumed _that Henry would be the one who'd talk to her. That he wouldn't be the one who took the wheel on this.

And, a part of Henry wanted to believe that was because Steve was just a stupid _guy _who didn't want to deal with a woman when she was upset, and was hoping to shove this responsibility off onto someone else. That would be easy to swallow, because it meant that all Henry had to do now was roll his eyes at macho sensibilities and then forget all about it once he joined his friend.

But, he knew better.

Even if they hadn't gone through everything they had together, even if they hadn't had the conversation that they did in the hall _just_ _now_, Henry would know that wasn't the reason Steve expected him to talk to her. One look in his eyes and the truth was undeniable;

He thought it was for the best.

Steve hadn't thought that he should be the one to reach out to Nancy, because he wasn't trying to use this moment to make himself look better, or even make himself _feel _better. He didn't care about what he could get out of this, he just wanted what was best for her. He wanted Nancy to feel better and maybe… maybe he wanted Henry to feel better too. He thought the best way to make that happen was for the pair of them to be together, and for him to take a step back.

No matter how badly he wanted to talk to her.

Henry nearly swore out loud when the realization hit him. He didn't want to admit it to himself; he didn't want to deal with this information. But, unfortunately it was the truth. Steve _did _want to reach out to Nancy, but he wanted what was best for others more than he wanted what was best for himself. He was willing to put other peoples' happiness over his own, and of course that meant…

Henry's stomach dropped as he realized _exactly _what that meant.

Steve smiled a little, oblivious to the inner turmoil of his companion, and Henry swallowed around the lump in his throat before forcing himself to do what he so badly didn't want.

He sent Steve a significant look and jerked his head towards Nancy.

It took a moment for the meaning to become clear, but Steve's eyes widened when he finally realized, like he couldn't believe what Henry was nonverbally telling him. He glanced towards Nancy—desperately trying to grasp what was happening—before he turned back to Henry; still shocked, but now uncertain as well. He didn't think he could do this, he thought he'd mess this up, and Henry...

Henry didn't want this, but still found it in himself to smile.

That was enough. No matter how hard he had to work to make it happen, or the internal battle that waged inside of him, that small smile was somehow enough. Steve straightened up a little, and even though he still looked nervous, he seemed a lot more determined than before.

This time, when he turned to Nancy, he didn't look back.

And Henry was gone before Steve even sat down.

He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay here; Henry heading down the ramp and around the side of the building. He considered going back inside, but he realized all that had to offer was a waiting room full of few people he didn't particularly want to be around. The people he _did_ want to be around, however… Well, they had more important things to do right now.

Henry didn't blame them, not at all. Jonathan and Lucas and the rest of the boys were all excited to be with Will, and Steve and Nancy were having a necessary moment alone. He could let them all be; it wasn't like they needed him for anything.

The only person that _might _want him there was Nancy, but that would only be if Steve was the type of person who'd try to take advantage of her emotional state. And Henry had known from the moment he'd looked at Steve that all he wanted was for Nancy to feel better. Not to make the chances of being forgiven higher, or to absolve himself from guilt, just to make her happy, because he cared that much.

Must be nice to have a guy who felt that way about you.

God, this was stupid. He was at the hospital right now for a child that had been attacked by a monster and saved from some terrible version of our world. In the grand scheme of things, getting sad about not having a boyfriend was ridiculous. He knew that, he _knew _that, so why didn't he feel any better?

Maybe it was because he had no one to talk to about it.

Okay, that wasn't _completely _true. He could tell Lucas or Jonathan or Nancy some heavily edited version, but… They wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand how it felt to be like him and to want something like that _so badly. _It wasn't like a boy wanting a girlfriend or a girl wanting a boyfriend, this was different. He knew he wasn't going to get it, he knew he probably never would, and it hurt to think about.

Barb would understand.

Of course she would, she'd experienced the same thing. Hell, she'd also looked at Steve and Nancy and felt exactly what Henry was feeling right now. Well, not quite, because it wasn't like Henry was _in love _with Steve or anything, he was just a nice looking representation of what he wanted. And that was all. Just that.

Barb still would've teased him about it though, wouldn't have let him off the hook. They'd be walking around this building and she'd be reminding him of how he'd said Steve could never get him to like him, or they'd be in the waiting room and she'd be bemoaning his bad taste, or—or—

_Fuck_.

He wanted _Barb. _He wanted his best friend. He wanted to get teased, he wanted to make fun of straight people, he wanted to commiserate over wanting someone special. He wanted the one person in all of Hawkins who understood him. And, instead he…

He was _alone. _

_Just like before._

"Slipping out before anybody notices?"

Henry came to a grinding halt at that unexpected voice. Although he wasn't exactly removed from society, he really hadn't been expecting to bump into anyone while he hung around the hospital at this time of night. And, even if he had, he would've thought they would be strangers who'd look right past him. Not someone who'd notice him. Not someone who'd acknowledge him.

Not _Hopper._

He was standing at the top of the concrete steps to Henry's left—having clearly just exited from the side door— and he zipped up his coat just as casually as he'd spoken. It was clear from the hat that was firmly on his head and his body language that he wasn't just stepping out for a quick smoke.

"No," Henry replied, sending him a look, "But, I think _you_ might be."

Hopper snorted, but there was the ghost of a smirk that let Henry know he wasn't far off. He hopped down the steps with a little more spring in his step than most men his age, and dug in his pocket in a movement that was intimately familiar to Henry. Hopper reached the sidewalk as he popped one between his teeth, and the moment his boot touched the concrete, he was swinging around to face Henry; still nonchalant as he reached out and offered what was in his hand.

Camels.

Unlike the Chief, Henry was too surprised to play it cool. Looking back on it, he would wish that he'd casually accepted one like this was something that happened every day. But, he hesitated instead; looking at the familiar carton with wide eyes. He'd never had an adult give him a cigarette, let alone unprompted.

Let alone _Hopper._

But, even though his brain stalled for a second, he soon reached out and took one from the box; muttering his thanks as he placed it between his teeth. He patted his pockets briefly, before he saw Hopper flip a lighter open and—after only a moment of uncertainty—he leaned in a little closer to let him light it.

Instead of the sweet rush of relief the first pull usually gave him, all Henry felt was a burn on his throat that was so harsh that he had to yank the cigarette out of his mouth.

"What the fuck?" He exclaimed through his coughs, looking down and seeing under the streetlight what made this cigarette between his fingers so different from the ones he usually smoked, "Are these unfiltered?!"

It took a few more chest-rattling coughs for him to start to feel back to normal, but even while he was busy trying to not die, Henry had enough presence of mind to know that he was expecting either some gruff comment or complete silence in response. But, instead of what was so predictable, he heard something he never had before in his life

Hopper _laughing_.

It was low, nothing more than a few chuckles, but it was there just the same. A sound that was so unfamiliar that Henry didn't fully understand what it was until he looked over and found that the normally dour expression of the police chief had been replaced with a _smile._

"Not my fault you're a pussy," Hopper replied once he'd stopped coughing, clearly so severely amused that Henry couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed by that. Besides, it was obvious he wasn't trying to be mean or anything; he was just teasing.

Teasing.

Hopper was _teasing._

This night couldn't get any weirder if it tried.

Henry smiled a little, not entirely sure what he could possibly say in response, before he raised the cigarette to his lips—a little more cautious this time—and managed to take a puff without feeling like he needed to hack up a lung. He leaned back against the metal railing as he let the nicotine enter his system, and watched as their smoke curled in the cool air together for just a moment before it dissipated into the darkness of Hawkins. The seconds ticked by in silence, and Henry felt himself slowly begin to settle.

"How're you doing, Kid?"

Being called that by Hopper triggered some automatic distaste in Henry, but he pushed that all away. He was only just starting to feel better, and he didn't want to throw it all away just to be unnecessarily prickly. Besides, he didn't even want to. Usually, there was a part of him that always wanted to snarl and shriek when Hopper was around. But, right now? After everything Hopper had done to bring Will back? After everything Hopper had done to help Henry get the boys somewhere safe? After everything Hopper had s—

He just…

He didn't want to be prickly.

So instead, he focused on the words themselves, the genuine note of concern behind them, and he searched for an answer that wouldn't be a lie. Because it would be a lie to say he was fine. He couldn't even tell that lie to himself, and he'd convinced himself that he was fine more times than he could count. He wasn't fine, he knew that.

But, he also knew he wasn't _not _fine. Sure, he felt like his life was falling apart at the seams, but he was keeping it together. He was _handling_ everything that had been thrown at him. He was _dealing_ with everything that he'd survived. He was _getting by._ He was _managing. _He was…

He…

He was…

"_Swimming."_

Hopper snapped to look at him, and Henry couldn't help but be a little surprised himself. He wasn't sure when he'd become capable of casually speaking about that horrible experience with the man he couldn't help but see as one of the main causes, but evidently that had happened at some point. Maybe it was because that wasn't the worst thing he'd lived through now, and he had more than enough fresh reasons to feel awful.

Or…

Or maybe…

Maybe he didn't really see Hopper like that anymore.

Because now Henry found that it wasn't hard to make eye contact. He could look right at Hopper without that inner push to avert his eyes. He could smoke a cigarette with him and not feel like he needed to do everything he could to get out of this situation. He could… He could talk to him. He could talk to him without feeling like he needed to run away.

He'd never been able to do that before.

After a moment of silence as that word hung in the air, Hopper snorted a little and turned his attention back out towards the parking lot.

"Best any of us can do," he offered, taking a deep drag from his cigarette and letting it go quiet again.

And, maybe that would be it. The two of them would smoke their cigarettes and go their separate ways, without either of them saying another word to one another. That could feasibly happen, especially after the night they'd both had.

But, Henry had just realized that, for the first time in his life, he could say something to Hopper. He could do the one thing that had terrified him for years. And sure, it could've been that he was just so tired and lonely that he was willing to turn to anyone at this point, but he knew that wasn't the case. He knew that things had changed. He knew that _he _had changed.

The kid who'd told his mom he was never going to see Hopper again was gone, but Henry wasn't entirely sure who was left.

"It doesn't feel over," Henry said, looking down at the cigarette between his fingers, "It feels like something's going to happen and we'll be right back to where we were."

"It isn't."

Hopper's casual response was enough to pull Henry's eyes up, and he found that the Chief was still looking out at the dark parking lot in front of them.

"We all grow old and die without ever seeing anything like what we've seen tonight again, and it still won't be over," Hopper said, "This isn't a sitcom, Kid. Everything doesn't get wrapped up in a neat bow at the end. This part is going to stay forever, even though we keep going."

Hopper's words, although blunt, were clearly not meant to hurt. He was just telling him the simple truth. He wasn't trying to make things worse, but he wasn't pretending like what they were facing was anything less than what it was.

It hurt to hear, just the same.

It hurt because Henry had known. He'd known this from the start. He'd just… He didn't want to acknowledge the painful truth. He didn't want to deal with the fact that this was something he'd never truly be free from. That this was something that would follow him for the rest of his life.

"It'll get easier, though," Hopper said, his voice cutting through the silence, although it was a lot less harsh. Henry looked up and found that he was already looking at him, his expression less even now, and more sympathetic. Like he knew what he'd been thinking, and like… like he was trying to comfort him, "With time."

That didn't make Henry feel better, not the way Hopper had intended. That wasn't his fault though, he couldn't have known how those words made Henry's chest tighten and his stomach twist. Because, it wasn't _really _those words that did it.

It was the fact that Hopper didn't even need to tell him that in the first place.

"Yeah, I…" Henry cleared his throat, the truth clogging his throat, "I know."

It was quiet again, only this time it wasn't so easy. The air was heavy now with the implications of what he'd just said. Hopper was too smart a man to not understand what that meant. And sure, he'd sort of broached the topic already, but it wasn't like now. That had just been a sideways comment, and it hadn't gone anywhere. But now… now they were to the place that Henry dreaded. He could feel it, he knew what was coming.

"Henry—"

"We don't have to talk about it."

Henry's words were rushed in his desperation to cut Hopper off, but he didn't even care how he sounded. If obvious panic was what it took to get this to stop, then oh well. He'd be pathetic if that meant Hopper understood that this wasn't something that he wanted to get into. Not now, not ever.

"I know, I know. I get it, I do, I just…" Hopper said, and even though he was doing the exact thing he _didn't _want, his voice was calm and low, and Henry couldn't help but feel soothed slightly as Hopper turned to face him, "I gotta know, Kid. Do I need to worry?"

Hopper's gaze was intense, but it wasn't intimidating, not in the way it could be. He wasn't angry, or upset, or even critical. He was… he was just concerned. What Henry had accidentally spat at him a few hours ago had only made Hopper worry. In some ways, it was a relief—Henry didn't have to face judgement or deal with being reprimanded—but it still made him uncomfortable.

He would've much rather spent the rest of his life never acknowledging this than having the conversation that he'd been terrified of since the first time he opened his eyes in the hospital room four years ago.

"No, I… It's fine," Henry muttered, before clearing his throat and speaking again; his voice a little bit stronger now, "I'm fine."

Despite that, Hopper's gaze held steady, and he maintained eye contact for a few quiet moments. Henry could see in Hopper's stare that he was looking for any sign that what he'd said was a lie. A sign that Henry _wasn't_ fine, that he _did _need to worry about him, that he…

Henry wasn't sure what Hopper would do if he thought he was lying. Would he tell his parents? Arrest him so he could keep an eye on him, if just for the night? Or maybe he would turn right around and head back into the hospital to have him put under one of those watches. Henry knew that the only thing that would accomplish would be making him want to kill himself more, but who knew what Hopper would think was best. It honestly didn't matter, though; Henry knew there wasn't any sign of a lie.

There _wasn't _a lie.

Because, after everything that had happened in the Byers' house, after everything that had happened this past _week,_ he knew that he didn't want to die.

Hopper knew that too now. He'd seen it in his expression. He must've, because he nodded a little and the concern on his features slowly began to melt away. Whatever he'd seen in Henry had been enough to convince him.

"Okay," Hopper murmured, before he spoke a little louder, a little more pointed, "Okay?"

That wasn't an empty question. His tone was too pointed and his look too significant, for that to be rhetorical. He was legitimately asking, and he wanted a _real _answer. Not just a hollow reassurance that everybody gave one another. He was giving Henry a chance to say no, to tell him if he _wasn't _okay, to…

To let him help if he needed it.

But, at the same time, he was giving Henry a chance to say _yes_. To tell him he wasokay and end this conversation once and for all. Close this chapter that the pair of them had been stuck in for four years together, and do what Henry hadn't been able to until now.

Move on.

"Okay."

Henry's voice was strong and sure, and Hopper nodded once.

After a moment, they both turned their eyes back out towards the hospital parking lot, and the pair was silent; smoking their cigarettes and reveling in the first moment of calm they'd had in quite some time.

Neither one apologized, because neither one needed to hear it.

It had been quiet for a while, both men absorbed with their own thoughts, when a sleek, black car caught their attention. It was slowly making its way towards them, and although it was hard to get a good look at it against the darkness, Henry had more than enough experience with cars to know when one wasn't normal. When one wasn't owned by an average person.

"I think your ride's here," Henry said casually, looking over at Hopper. He seemed a little surprised; not by the car—he'd probably come out here expecting it—but by the fact that Henry had been perceptive enough to understand what was happening right now. But, that didn't trip him up, or even distract him.

"Go inside, Kid," Hopper said with a grim frown, "Your friends are probably looking for you by now."

Henry decided it wasn't worth it to point out that everyone was way too preoccupied to care about what he was doing, and instead he just nodded and threw what remained of his cigarette down to the pavement.

"Good luck," he offered as he turned towards the side door; lingering just long enough to see Hopper nod and smile a little bit before he hopped up the steps.

"Henry."

Henry was at the top of the stairs when Hopper called his name, and he turned to see that the Chief was looking up to where he was standing with an expression that was open and genuine, despite what was undoubtedly a government car about to whisk him away.

"A lot of people in there care about you, Kid. Find them."

Henry didn't quite understand how someone he'd pushed away for years could be so certain of that.

He only managed a small nod, but that was enough to satisfy Hopper. He ducked into the car, and Henry stayed on the small porch long enough to watch it pull out and disappear into the dark night. Once the car was out of sight, he took one last deep breath and pulled the door open; stepping back into the hospital with Hopper's words ringing in his ears.

He hardly paid attention to what he was doing, his mind somewhere else as he made his way down the halls. It was only when he was almost there did he realize that he'd been heading back towards the waiting room. Last he checked, only the Wheelers were in there, but maybe Nancy and Steve had come in from the cold too. Besides, he was tired of standing, so he might as well go where he knew there were chairs.

It wasn't ideal, but hey, where else was he going to go?

As Henry turned the last corner, he expected to face down another empty corridor lined with closed doors just like every other hallway in this hospital. The only difference would be that he'd duck into one of the rooms himself before shutting the door and putting everything back to the status quo.

But, the hallway _wasn't _empty.

Jonathan's face lit up the moment he saw him.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, rushing towards Henry with an upbeat energy that he'd never seen from the usually reserved man before. He guessed it made sense seeing how his brother was back and safe, but it was still surprising, "I've been looking for you."

Before Henry could ask him what he was talking about, Jonathan slipped his hand into his, and although he was gentle since he was using his wrapped up hand, he tugged him down the hall with a grip that didn't leave any room to argue. Henry stumbled at first, but he quickly found his feet and followed after him, mostly because he didn't have much of a choice.

"Where are we going?" He asked, jogging just a little so he could be beside Jonathan as they hurried down the hospital halls.

"To see Will."

Jonathan said it so simply, as if it was the _obvious _answer, that it didn't even register in Henry's mind at first. By the time he realized what Jonathan had told him, Henry didn't have a chance to say anything about it because they were rounding the corner and into a hospital room.

The moment they set foot inside, the room exploded with the sound of excited chatter. The three boys hurried forward and grabbed onto Henry with three sets of small but _very _strong hands; pulling him deeper inside whether he wanted to or not.

"We were _trapped _and we thought we were going to _die _and then—"

"He went into the woods with your brother and Nancy _looking_ for the Demogorgon and—"

"He had a _gun! _He would've _shot someone—_"

"He told us not to go into the woods and he was so scary that Dustin called him _sir."_

"I did not!"

"Did to!"

"Okay, okay, guys," Jonathan said, laughing a little, "Let him be, don't overwhelm him."

Henry wasn't entirely certain who he was talking about there, but it worked to get the boys to calm down a bit. They let go of his arms and dispersed a little, but they never really moved away from the central hub; what everyone was orbiting.

Henry suddenly understood the face his mother had made every time she'd gone into his hospital room.

The face she thought he'd never noticed. The face that _hurt _to look at, because of how badly _she_ hurt underneath. The face that was almost always covered by a warm mask that was so convincing that he sometimes wondered if he'd imagined it in the first place.

And Henry was nothing if not his mother's son.

"Hey, Will," Henry said, soft and sweet, "How're you feeling, Bud?"

Despite his obvious frailty and exhaustion, Will smiled just as wide as he would any other day. He lit up like Henry had said something surprising or special, and Joyce's eyes watered while her shaky smile grew at the sight of her son's expression.

"Better," he said, Henry chuckling a little.

"I bet," he replied, and the pair smiled at one another like they were sharing a secret.

"Here, Honey, sit down," Joyce said, Henry's eyes widening as she pushed a chair towards him.

"Oh, I don't want to-to bother you guys," he said, "I'll go—"

"Don't be silly," Joyce replied with a small wet laugh, looking at Henry as if he was crazy to even suggest such a thing.

But, that wasn't what convinced him to sit down. If the only person insisting that he stay was Joyce, it would be very tempting, but he'd assume she was just trying to be nice to the kid that had kept an eye on her oldest son during all of this. That he wasn't actually wanted beyond some feeling of obligation.

What _did_ convince him was the small voice coming from the hospital bed.

"Please stay."

Will's eyes were wide and hopeful as he looked up at him, like he wanted what he was asking for so _badly, _and it was more than enough to make Henry give in to what he wanted to do anyway.

He sat down in the uncomfortable chair, and Will's expression brightened up again, like what he'd done had made him happier than anyone could imagine, and Henry couldn't stop himself from the sunny smile he gave back.

Will's eyes widened a little before dropping down to the bedspread, but Henry didn't notice; Jonathan had leaned against the back of his chair, and he'd looked up to share a smile with his friend. But, despite the fact that his brother had just unknowingly saved him from some embarrassment, Will stole Henry's attention back as soon as he could.

"Um, you had-have a gun?" Will asked, his voice wobbling as he asked the question. Henry opened his mouth to respond, his brain working fast to try to figure out how to explain what he'd done in a way that didn't sound insane, but he wasn't even able to get a single syllable out.

"Dude, Henry was _so_ badass!" Dustin exploded.

"I wish you could've seen it!" Mike added.

"He stole it!" Lucas finished.

And that was more than enough to get the boys going; telling Will everything that Henry had gone through as best they could with their own incomplete knowledge. Henry let it happen, with a smile permanently affixed, and he alternated between watching the boys' animated storytelling and looking at Will's expression. He was enthralled, and his excitement grew as the boys went on and on, no matter how tired he actually was.

Henry knew that this wasn't how it would always be.

Henry knew that this moment, this happiness, wasn't going to last.

Hopper was right. It wasn't over. Everything they'd lived through, everything Will had _survived, _wasn't going to leave so easily. This was the type of stuff that stayed. The type that stuck to you for the rest of your life.

The cut on their hands would heal, but the scar would never completely fade.

But, it didn't matter.

Well, it _did. _It _mattered_ that Henry would have to look Mr. and Mrs. Holland in the eyes after this like he hadn't failed to save their daughter. It mattered that none of them would ever feel the same about the woods, or the dark, or that stretch of road where Cornwallis and Kerley met. It mattered that Will was going to have to cope with what happened to him for the rest of his life. It mattered that Henry would have to live without the one person who…

But, it didn't matter that this moment was going to end.

It didn't matter that this happiness would eventually run out, because Henry knew that it wouldn't be gone forever.

Yeah, they had a rough road up ahead, but it was all of them. Maybe Henry would never be able to keep guilt from welling up inside him when he saw the Hollands, but at least he knew that Nancy would always understand. Maybe none of them would ever be able to experience certain things without leftover fear striking them, but at least they were all in it together. And, maybe Henry wasn't going to have the person he'd connected with so deeply, but…

But…

But, in this moment—in this beautiful, fleeting moment—he looked at Will and…

Henry didn't feel quite so alone.


End file.
